The Trial, begins
by Sacide Darkpath
Summary: All she ever wanted to do is study. Being dragged to the freezing North to watch frivilous tournaments disguised as a clever recruitment ploy, Jaina Proudmoore wanted for it to be over with so she can get back to her paperwork and the people of Theramore. That was, until the trials themselves begun. [COMPLETE]
1. The Invitation

AN: _So, welcome to my new story! It's centered around Jaina Proudmoore and the Argent Tournament to come. And maybe a little more than that at the end. As a warning, There's hints of Thrall/Jaina and waaay later Arthas/Jaina, but it's not pairing focused. Neither of them are really prominent or focused upon, they're just.. there._

Dustwallow Marsh is a vast and ancient swamp in Central Kalimdor that is home to many old and wonderful beasts. Navigation is often extremely difficult and many adventurers have lost their way in this great morass. Trees obscure the sunlight and raptors, spiders, and crocolisks lie in wait, hunting those brave enough to venture close to their lairs.

A hot, fetid swampland, Dustwallow Marsh is fed by underground springs that keep it eternally wet and muddy. Mosquitoes buzz in the air. Trees dip fronds into the waters.

But among the the acrid stench and deadly predators, lie the singular Alliance stronghold-city of Theramore. It serves as the humans – and to the extent – the Alliance's footing in Kalimdor's entirety. Flanked by these conditions, beasts, and the ever glooming preconceived threat of the Horde breathing down their necks, the city stands true and proud, ruled by a powerful sorceresses.

She was humble by any definition of the word, and merely waved off the compliments of her abilities that was offered to her. She was not ungrateful of their praise, of course, but she did not believe it so. All she ever wanted to do was study, after all. But, fate had other plans for her, as the Prophet had tasked her years ago. To which she had taken her people to the place she now resided..

A sigh suddenly escaped the young woman, numbly placing the book she had intended to read down set on the table. The candle's flame on her desk flickered with the sudden motion. With a freed hand, she brushed her golden locks away from her face, trying not to let the ugly display of grimacing reach her features. When she was not juggling between Horde and Alliance politics and her own duties as a ruler of Theramore, she was studying, reading and always keeping her mind busy.

She felt that she had to. Jaina Proudmoore believed she would go crazy should she not focus on anything. However, for the past two hours she found that she hadn't even picked up anything from the book she was halfway done with, her mind deceptively deciding to occupy thoughts of old instead of entertaining the new. It wasn't that she couldn't control what she thought – far from it – simply with all the knowledge she possessed, her mind tended to wonder when attempting to concentrate on things she knows to be menial.

It was late at night, however, and she intended a quick read before turning in. Unfortunately, it seemed that wasn't going to be the case. Her fingers itched with mystical possibilities in both her arcane sense and the physical sense of finishing the thrice-damned paperwork. She'd give the King of Stormwind some credit, he was persistent when it concerned her and her city.

"Concern." she almost barked a laugh outwardly. While it was regrettable that she relied somewhat of the kingdom to the east for support, clearly their only interest in the stronghold was military purposes, considering how close it was to the Horde's doorstep. She was an advocate of peace, some may call her preachy, but while she stands, lives and breaths as both a person and the Ruler of Theramore, she would not wage war against her neighbours.

As she turned to stand, taking the candle with her as light as she descended from her bed chambers to a lower part of her tower, her thoughts found themselves thinking of the Horde. More specifically, Thrall.

A good man, he was. He wished for peace just as much as Jaina desired it, but alas, he had his calling as the Warchief of the Horde to attend to. He had the unfortunate task of quelling members that would split her skull rather than speak, whereas she was wholly ignored despite her counsel proving right time and time again.

She supposed her forethought was a bit of a harsh generalisation, and she truly grimaced. Thrall – Go'el – had commented once that she was somewhat respected in the Horde, as respected as a pink skinned creature like her could be. Of course, some still believed the rumours that there was a.. "thing" going on between herself and the Warchief, all with varying points of view and uncalled for names thrown into the mix.

But some had seen her talent and display at the Battle of Mount Hyjal, and Thrall's own opinion of Jaina. If there was anything the Orcs – and to the extent, Horde, could appreciate, it was her honor and ability as a fighter. Although the woman preferred to rely on her wit and words, she was no slouch when it came to the battlefield. She recalled, standing on the butte of the hill with the orc beside her, she had merely grinned.

Ah-hah, amidst her trip through nostalgia, she had arrived at her work chamber. Piles of letters bearing a variety of nobles' wax seals, all from the land far to the east, resided on the large expansive desk to the left. In the middle sat an open letter; with a blank canvas beneath it. Already, the inkwell and quill just adjacent was still wet – her chamberlain had sent her off when caught the ruler lost in her politics all too many times.

She set the candle on the desk and closed her eyes. The familiar feel of arcane energy coursed through her as she projected her magic all around the tower, searching for magical entities. It appeared as so her chamberlain was in her quarters, sound asleep, hopefully. Her blue eyes, twinged with magic, opened, and she slipped into her seat.

The letter was rather unimportant that she had gotten up in the middle of the night to address it, but she liked to work, and it would be less weight on her shoulders in the morning. Jaina dismissed the immediate feel of heavy bags on her eyes when she gingerly picked the frail paper, scanning her eyes across and refreshing herself of what was written on it. Some noble blathering on about claims and what not – totally unrelated to her and her matters. She sighed, and prepared to write the box standard reply.

"My lady, it is far too early for you to of awoken already. The work will still be here in the morning."

Halfway done, the quill paused, as did the human. A brief flicker of surprise passed through her, but she had already expected that something like this would happen. Lifting her head up, she met the stern gaze of her chamberlain, whom clicked her tongue in disapproval. The younger mage, however, pursed her lips.

"Yes, it will indeed, Magna, heavier than ever."

The former Guardian scoffed – disapproving in her tone of her mistresses use of the title. Had it been any other situation, she would of boxed her about the ears. She supposed, ironically, that's why Jaina choose to call her that so tactfully. She recalled the woman always dismissing her attempts at formality.

"Continuing to work yourself into a coma is not going to help anyone, now is it?" the adviser merely questioned, folding her arms and wrinkling her nose. "And, really, Jaina. Did you think I would not notice that brief spell?"

In her tired state, Jaina had not been thinking straight. Her mind rather stay on trivial and old things, it seemed. A misplay on her part. Sighing, she set the quill back into the ink well, turning to face the disapproval that was rolling off of Aegwynn. There was not an ounce of loss sleep on her aged face, much could be said about her own.

"I simply must get this done by the morning. Then, I promise you, I'll keep paperwork to a minimum." she tried to compromise. The aged Archmage displayed a sudden grin of mischief, which could only mean bad news for the young princess.

"Oh, you wont have any worries about that, Jaina." she paused, noting the furrowed brows the other displayed. "Have you forgotten?"

"Evidently." Proudmoore replied carefully.

The grin simply widened. "Then it is my duty to remind the fair lady of Highlord Tirion Fordring's invitation to be among the leaders of the Alliance in the grand opening of the Argent Tournament, and the Crusader's Coliseum."

The display on Jaina's face was enough to make the old magna chuckle. Shifting through letters almost frantically, she did indeed come across the letter that stated her invitation, along with a few personal words from Tirion himself. The letter was beautiful compared to the nobles' ones, the seal of the Argent Crusade clear as day.

The sorceresses almost lost herself to old childish follies to slap her forehead at her own, brief forgetfulness and groan. Instead, she gingerly re-opened the letter.

Fordring's notice of her independence and not as some addition to Stormwind as the nobles liked to claim made her smile a little. He had said something along those lines in his personal, brief note, but what made her pause was that the Horde's leaders would be invited too. While she did not question the Highlord's ability to keep the peace during the major leaders of Azeroth's stay at the grounds, she wouldn't like to be in the same room as the Stormwind King and Son of Hellscream again.

She paused.

Perhaps it was for the better. At the very least, she could babysit the King as she once had before, back when he was.. less than himself. Still, this event perhaps gave her some wishful hope that she could speak to Thrall again, without the need of secret meetings and careful words. Under the Argent's banner, they would not be questioned, although merely looked at curiously.

However that didn't stave away from the fact of the Ground's true purpose – to pit warriors against all odds and create an elite force of the Alliance and Horde's strongest warriors against the coming assault of the Ice Crown Citadel – fortress to the Lich King.

Arthas.

Her shoulders suddenly slumping clued Aegwynn in of her mistresses thoughts. Gently, she rested a hand on her shoulders and gave a less than comforting pat.

"You don't have to attend.." the woman started. "It is an invitation, not an order."

Jaina waved her off. "No, it would be rude to the Highlord and the Argent Crusade's efforts. He recognizes me as a credible leader of the Alliance, after all."

Aegwynn's grin never diminished, and she decided to play devil's advocate. "Ah yes, it will be most interesting watching men and women pit against each other like animals, loud, obnoxious, with not a book in sight."

Jaina snorted. "Oh, Magna please. I know what you are doing. Besides." her face softened. "I may seek Thrall out and speak with him."

"We'll see, my lady. We'll see. Now, off to bed with you. We'll be off in the afternoon."

Giving a short nod, Jaina tucked the invitation into her robes as Aegwynn left for her quarters again. Finishing the letter to the pompous noble rather abruptly, she closed it, sealed it, and made a metal note to call the messenger in the morning. Clasping her hand to her mouth, she yawned, and snuffed the fire of the candle with a brief flick of the wrist. Tomorrow's events brought so much, she couldn't even begin to comprehend.


	2. Arrival

The aftenoon dawned upon them far quicker than the young mage would of wanted.

Bundling up in the thickest of furs and the strongest of enchanted robes, Jaina prepared for her teleportion to Dalaran, upon which she and her company would be escorted by the Argent's own hippogryphs. Already she had rallied her messenger with a bag full of letters, and sent him a sympathetic look with his already burdened load. Aegwynn was content to be as slow as possible, where the young sorceresses found herself impatient by her chamberlain's deliberate obtuseness.

"Aegwynn!" Jaina called sharply. "Are you ready yet? I don't want to be late."

"The more to see your green skinned prince, hm?" was the lazy reply back. Despite the scowl that grew on the ruler's face, a small smile discredited it. Really, the chamberlain was not unknown to the rumours that surfaced between the odd, unlikely friendship, but she knew better than the two in question knew. The old Guardian simply liked to tease.

"Oh, hush you old goat!" she snapped. "I dare say you're simply lounging in there and riling me up!"

There was a brief, low snicker, and finally, the old Magna made her appearance. As well as wearing simple robes, unenchanted by the common and even expert eye, it was mostly covered by equally thick furs and cloaks that would help stave away the Northrend cold. Although both of them could easily enchant a brief warmth spell, it was good to keep up appearances. That, and Jaina didn't want to exert her magic to the point of having to perform the minor spell on every single attendee.

Nevertheless, Jaina rolled her eyes, grinning almost simply as she looped her arm through Aegwynn's. Focusing and concentrating on the pavilion that manage the floating cities' flight to and from areas, it was only a brief moment before they were whisked away from Theramore, to Dalaran, and set on a hippogryph momentarily after.

* * *

The biting cold of Northrend was far more chilling than Jaina had initially precipitated, having shed a few outer cloaks despite her chamberlain's protest. When the stagbirds gotten even in spitting distance of Icecrown; she could almost feel the cold undeath of unnatural ice start to envelop her. Her breath was a crystalline haze, and she shivered despite her warming spell and battlethreads.

Drawing what she had brought with her closer to her body; flecks of snow and frost mingled in her golden locks, too cold for it to melt as it simply stayed as if dandruff. She merely shook a hand through it to rid herself of the flakes.

As the hippogryphs lowered their altitude and speed; they descended with almost perfectly trained accuracy to the stables, to which they were quickly attended to by squire boys donning the banner of the golden sun. Jaina thanked them; helping herself off as Aegwynn did the same.

To say it was a bustle of activity was an understatement.

To her eyes and even her arcane insight, she spied every single raced that encompassed both the Alliance and the Horde. Noise was abundant, but it was in high cheer. Adventurers that were champions of their respectful nations mingled with members that were far beyond their social class, professions of every kind and every walks of life seemed to be in her vision.

The jousting rings were set up, littered all around the area to help hone one's abilities with this, strange, utterly strange concept. Jousting? To some races, it was unheard of, to others, it was sport. The sorceress could even see, at the very far back; away from most of the attendees line of sight, beasts that would fill the pens of the coliseum, ready to be fought against. She suddenly licked her lips free of the dryness that the chill wrought.

What impressed and floured her entirely was that some members of her faction spoke with the opposing. Although the threat of the scourge and the Lich King brought a rocky unsteady truce between the two that would certainly not last long, they were reluctant to go above and beyond what was expected of them. To see them actually talk to each other, that did not seem to be threats (at least, not intentional ones. Jaina later found out some Orcs and Humans were naturally pitting their strengths in healthy competition of goodwill)

An example out of the corner of her eye spied a homely Tauren speaking with a dwarf. Although their words were unheard to her, it appeared they were in heated discussion, sharing some similar passion. It astonished the mage to see more examples like this, to the point where it brought burdening, overflowing emotions.

"My lady?"

She snapped out of her stupor and smiled as if nothing went through her head. "Yes, Aegwynn?"

"Shall we proceed?" The former Guardian peered at the mage; a craggy eyebrow raised.

"We shall."

Arm in arm, the two women set off. It wasn't long before excitement overtook the older woman, and Jaina allowed her to continue on ahead with glee as she entertained herself, socialising with almost everyone to meet, who was all too pleased to return the pleasant conversation of her sharp and unmatched wit.

The sorceress almost walked blindly then, without aim. Against the whites of the snow and the multicolour of everyone's race and faction representative brand, she nearly didn't recognise a single person. But her mind was sharper than her physical vision. She smiled pleasantly and easily mingled in with a group of dwarves and gnomes.

Somewhere along the way, she had almost found herself in company of her long time, unlikely orc friend. The shaman was speaking solemnly to members of his own race; flanked by a very unhappy looking rustic coloured one. Jaina could immediately identify them both as Thrall and Garrosh Hellscream.

As if feeling her expectant gaze; he briefly rolled back his shoulders and threw a glance in her direction. Immediately; their gazes locked, and it was that moment Jaina wanted to approach the group. Unfortunately; circumstance presented itself in the form of a King.

"Jaina!" the man smoothly said; blocking her vision of her friend with his thick, metal armour and expansive, royal cape of Stormwind. While Jaina held no ill to the man in front of her – she had played nanny the better part she knew him – she dearly wanted to catch up with old times with a friend. But, she didn't want to be rude, and to some extent, Varian Wrynn was a friend.

"King Wyrnn." She addressed, offering him a pretty smile. "I'm glad to see you in person. It feels so awful that our only means of communicating is letters most likely misconstrued by the nobles."

He barely winced at her thinly veiled stab at the varying houses of Stormwind. He could understand her plight – perhaps not personally, but he rather not get deep into the Stormwind-Theramore politics the coming days.

"It's good to see you too." he finally settled on, returning her smile with much less enthusiasm. It seemed that Jaina had curbed his drive right from her tone.

"The Highlord was quite formal in his invitations, but other than the purpose of the coliseum, I cannot garner much what would be taking place. Fights, naturally, but against what?" Jaina started, narrowing her bright blue eyes as she gazed up at the circular building that seemed to tower and engulf them all. The high banners of the Crusade could be seen draped around it, with the faction's representatives following suit around the spectator's ring.

"I don't suppose it matters much." Varian murmured. "As long as it determines the strength of the champions the Alliance has to offer, I am content. We must be sending only the very best into Icecrown, lest we give The Lich King more fodder."

Jaina frowned. It hurt her that the King referred to his own soldiers as such, but there was a slither of truth to them. Sending entire armies would only prove their downfall, as it would give the Lich King more resources and warriors. An elite strike force that passed this trial could stand against him. But something gnawed at the back of her mind - was this Trial really going to prepare the champions for the siege? Would they be signing their own death by almost handing the Lich King these elite forces?

No. She bit back. They would not fail. Tirion would not orchestrate this if he did not believe it wouldn't help. Still, her reply was absent minded.

"You forget, Varian. It encompasses the Horde as well."

The King scoffed. "We need champions, Jaina. Not savages."

Unwilling to deal with this argument she had butted heads against the stubborn king time and time again, she merely sent him a look that summarized her feelings on the matter. This was not the time nor the place for such discussion either. Speaking of, her eyes found way to Thrall once more, and was disappointed to find her gaze only met his retreating form; gesturing grandly something to Garrosh.

"Besides." she finally said, getting back to the point. "I want to know what I'll be watching in the coming days. I trust Tirion, but I am not particularly one to watch wanton violence, even if it is displayed tactfully and strategically."

Varian could grin aloofly at that, as a gladiator at heart, he would enjoy speculating and casting his opinion on the matches and the champions, much as Jaina would have to do so. "If the Highlord isn't busy, you can find him in his tent by the west. Today will be settling in – a feast will be held later in the evening. Tomorrow, in the morning, it begins."

Jaina nodded numbly, turning her head briefly to catch one of the Alliance Champions, a dwarven rogue by the name of Lana Stouthammer, join her fellow comrades for a drink. They seemed competent, well organized enough.

As she left rather abruptly with a haphazardly goodbye, making her way pointedly to the tent, she unfortunately didn't heart of Varian's request of her dining with him for the feast tonight. The king simply gave a light smile – he couldn't blame Jaina. Nothing bound her curiosity, and she was intent of finding out what was to come.

* * *

Okay, so perhaps she wasn't entirely interested of what the matches were. If Jaina had to be honest with herself, she was more seeking Tirion's wisdom than anything else. Never one to lie to herself, she shook her head. Her contact with old Paladin was scarce, if almost unheard of at best. Although it had strengthened considerably than what it was considering her efforts against Icecrown Citadel.

She knew he respected her, and that was not something to even glance over. Jaina marvelled at his influence and power, and was humbled by it. She may be coined "one of the most powerful female mages on Azeroth" (for her age, at least), but when face to face with the likes of Tirion Fordring, one of the first knights of the Silver Hand, she found herself feeling like a nervous student all too often.

He gave her no reason to be, of course. He did not look down upon her or patronize her for her status as a mage as Arthas almost once had nor as her being female. Either it be from Tirion's own free will that he thought that, or because of his virtues of a paladin, she knew it to be the former.

Entering the grandest tent that stationed around the tournament grounds, it was chaotic and hectic inside. The Highlord ordered his Peacekeepers calmly, writing off several more things that she couldn't quite see from his desk; and looking more haggard and burdened with age than Jaina liked to see. It seemed her sudden arrival was more than a welcome distraction for everyone inside.

"Lady Proudmoore." he breathed a sigh of relief, focusing his almost clear green eyes upon her. She bowed her head upon being addressed. "I am glad you made it safely to the grounds, as well as accept my invitation in the first place. Your opinion, along with the rest of the faction leaders, is invaluable."

Jaina almost fidgeted at being flourished with such individuality – something she strived for. But her courtly training did her well; and it was merely muscle memory to smile prettily and accept what was said. "Thank you, Highlord. It's the least I can do to support this. We need to stand together more than ever."

He nodded sagely; as the other Crusaders around him agreed silently. "Well said." he murmured. "Is there something you require, Lady Proudmoore?"

Her stark blue met his clear green. It was as if more weight suddenly added to the flecks of wrinkles that littered his face. Powerful as he was; and the Light rolled off him like water droplets down a windowpane, he was no stranger to his waning strength, despite many claiming otherwise. After all, he was merely human, in the end.

"Actually, there is something I've been meaning to discuss - the entirety of this tournament with you and I find this is the perfect opportunity while I have your audience." she started too quickly, biting her lip to surpress her childhood habit of nibbling on strands of hair. "I was.. distracted upon entering these grounds – something doesn't feel right."

Tirion pursed his lips, but didn't question. He rose an eyebrow, a silent urge for her to continue.

"We're too close to Icecrown Citadel." she stated ominously. "I can feel a strange presence that does not belong in the good graces of the Light. Something.. isn't right."


	3. Trial 1 - Introduction

_AN: So yeah, the first three chapters may of come out today, but It'll try and be a regular one chapter a day. Or every two days. Despite how short these are, it takes a lot of effort to write. Also, you may of seen that I'm using the Trial of the Champion's bosses to be the champions. I didn't want to use random characters (for example, my own toon) that nobody knew about, so I thought it'd fit. Plus, I think they're awesome._

At her rather strange statement, silence seized everyone inside. It was then, she suddenly felt quite self conscious. She watched with articulate accuracy the display on Tirion's face, the twitch of his moustache, the slight tug of his lips downwards.

The other Crusaders that flanked him gave each other uneasy looks. But whatever Jaina sensed – if anything at all – couldn't be mindless Scourge. She was not a priest, and Holy magic was not her forté. Still, the mage would like to argue it was less to do with her unable to wield the light as paladins and priests do, and more about seeking necromantic enchantments. She'd never be caught saying that out loud, however.

"Lady Proudmoore." the rumbling voice of Tirion slowly began after the pregnant pause. "What.. exactly, doesn't feel right?"

The young woman opened her mouth, and snapped it shut. Unless she could somehow project her feelings onto the man, she didn't quite know how to begin to explain it. "I sensed something." she murmured. "Something that shouldn't be here."

What startled her was that Tirion seemed to relax; the tell tale slump of his shoulders. She rose an inquisitive eyebrow. Standing up, the paladin moved around his desk to gently clasp her own shoulder with his gauntleted hand. The metal was surprisingly warm, and the direct touch immediately quelled every worry she had. It was soothing.

"I assure you, myself and my peacekeepers made it perfectly safe. I understand that we are perhaps a little close to Icecrown Citadel." he paused. "If it would make you feel more protected, I can assign a Crusader to accompany you."

Jaina tried not to blanch. "Oh, I was never questioning – " she shook her head. "No, no, it's fine. Perhaps it was a ghoul that strayed to close." She offered a strained smile.

Tirion returned it. "Perhaps. Please, try and enjoy yourself, Jaina."

With a small nod, her let her go. The warmth faded; the comfort fled. Back were her long thoughts and worries. But she didn't let it show. Giving one last respectful nod to the Paladin, she left all too quickly.

* * *

"I think he's hiding something."

After finding the chamberlain make more than a name for herself to the adventurers that she accompanied, the old magna was quickly sought out by Jaina. Having been quickly dragged away from her new friends, the old woman was less than pleased about it. They resided by the stables where nothing but the animals and squire boys could hear.

Aegwynn eyed Jaina critically. The girl was insolent at times, many days the former Guardian counted where she wanted to box her about the ears. But she wasn't stupid. Which is why it baffled her that her mistress blinked towards her, grabbed, and blinked to the stables. Especially with saying how she thinks the Highlord was hiding something.

Bizarre.

"What makes you say that?" she questioned at last. Jaina was all too relieved to be launched in her theories. It reminded her of the young girl's penchant for theorycrafting.

"I wanted to be informed about what entailed the matches, but the focus got more put on my feeling. After that, he pretty much dismissed me. He isn't one to forget or glance over what was just said, he'd of gone back and answered my question."

"Maybe he just doesn't want the matches to be spoilt." Aegwynn stated, peering at her mistress. "You're going to need more evidence than a hunch. Besides, we are speaking of the Highlord, are we not? I doubt he'd intentionally hide something from us."

"We both know that isn't true. If it means protecting us-"

"Oh look, the feast is about to start." the chamberlain cheerfully stated, pointing at the faction's leaders and respected champions start to move to a tent that had been set up for the purpose of the feast. It was large – larger than Tirion's tent – to be able to house them all. Jaina levelled her aide with a look that said that it wasn't over, and the two left for the feast.

To see such familiar faces brought both comfort and dread to the mage.

Of course, seating was set so that they would be divided into their Alliance and Horde, which Jaina thought totally undermined their message of peace. It didn't help the prominent presence of the peacekeepers were standing at the back and around the tent; ready to act should anything go awry. Tirion was not present yet, so it could not officially begin.

However, spying Thrall, Jaina made an instant bee line. His own features lit up as he glanced up to see her. Had it been any other setting, the woman would of threw her arms around the Orc and hugged her old friend. It had been too long since last contact.

"Warchief." she stated politely, slipping into the seat next to him and smiling broadly.

"Lady Proudmoore." he replied back, returning the smile toothily. Almost immediately, the two sprung into lively conversation, ranging from political pleasantries to friendly talk just about anything. They both failed to notice a rustic orc, who had been busy before, enter and do a double-take.

He stared, quite angrily, at the human woman that occupied his seat. After a moment, he recognised who it was, and he found himself glancing to Varian. He was glad he did – the human king's face at seeing Jaina, on her own free will, sit with an Orc and converse so heatedly put a priceless expression there. Garrosh supposed in this rare one time, he'll give his seat to the woman. Once.

Thus, because of Jaina honing in on Thrall, some leaders tried to switch their own seats. Vol'jin, for example, purposefully sat beside the High Priestess of Elune, Tyrande Whisperwind. She was tolerant, but her cautious coyness was something that had to be seen to be believed. The Troll Chieftain certainly had his work cut out for him.

When the Highlord finally made his appearance, he faulted at the mix match, but as long as they were not screaming at eachother, he found no reason to change it. "Like babysitting children" he had once said. His presence announced, the chatter quietened. Then, the Paladin spoke.

"I am glad to see that the entirety of the Horde and Alliance's leaders have all managed to attend. It fills my old heart with hope with the champions they have deemed fit against the Trial. As you know, if the chosen champions complete the trial, then they will be the ones to become our elite strike force against the Citadel. Arthas may think his fortress is impenetrable, but every armour has it's weak spot."

Throughout his speech, Jaina felt more than a little uneasy, her previous mood when, at last, being able to speak with Thrall at length dampened. Upon mentioning the Lich King's name, her appetite had just vanished. Tirion wrapped up his speech, awarded applause and mild murmurs, as he sat at the head of the table. Food was brought in shortly after, and she found herself picking at her strider meat with a fork.

Go'el glanced at her in concern. "Jaina?"

"Sorry." she offered him a weak smile. "I've been a little put off by this.. strange presence I can feel. The Highlord's speech didn't help much."

The humble Orc nodded slowly, taking a thoughtful bite of his food. "I have to admit, the spirits have been feeling a little at unease since I arrived here, too. I simply believe it's due to the proximity of here and the Citadel. It's presence is strong, reaches out to every stretch of Icecrown."

The mage agreed, and continued to eat in relative silence.

After they had eaten, they all chatted aimlessly. Aegwynn found herself in a particularly strange discussion concerning spirits and gnomish ingenuity between the Tauren Chieftain and King of Gnomes. She offered her own magical insight here and there, and when questioned, merely feigned that she learned it from Jaina.

Still, the old chamberlain glanced over to the woman, who had barely touched her meal and was speaking hushed with Thrall. If she strained her ears hard enough, she could catch snippets.

"...I believe this is necessary, yes.. the Highlord knows what he's doing." came from Thrall.

"I still don't like it. But I won't question his methods." she paused, distant.

"Jaina?"

"I believe I will stay a while after the trials." she slowly began, absent in mind. That was all she revealed though. Even with Thrall's questioning look and urge to continue, she merely shook her head and smiled, not elaborating. It wasn't a stretch to believe one of the leaders might stay – practice jousting and whatnot, but seeing the human mage stay was quite a stretch for her.

What troubled Thrall even more, was that The Banshee Queen had also vaguely mentioned her staying after the trials too. It didn't bode well. There were rumours that a wing of the Icecrown had become accessible to them – The Frozen Halls, and knowing both the vengeful fallen one, and the lady mage, he could only hope that they stay away from it and allow the Vanguard, Ebon Blade and Crusade deal with it.

They were busy making the entrance a sanctuary first, to give them some sort of holding.

The feast came to a close. The Highlord stood, thanked those who came once more, and ordered squire boys and girls to come and direct them to their tents that had been set up for their stay. Some had been provided for the adventurers too, as makeshift inns, but some adventurers prefer the insomniac route – after all, they wanted to grab the best seats.

Bidding her goodbye to Thrall to which Jaina felt was all too soon, she and Aegwynn departed on the directions of a human girl, bearing the colours of the Argent Crusade. Ushered to the tent, the mage suddenly felt all the excitement of the day pile on her shoulders as tired weight. She crashed onto her bed, throwing an arm over her head and finally letting out an unladylike groan.

Aegwynn grinned in amusement. "I did suggest to stay at Theramore. You could of sent a representative to cast your opinion."

Grabbing the pillow offered, she chucked it at the chamberlain, whom deftly caught it.

"I'm here now." Jaina stated. "Plus, I do truly want to stay after the trials."

"Pray tell, why?"

The woman chewed the inside of her cheek. "You'd never approve of it. I'm going to scout out in the Frozen Halls. I won't be alone, of course. I'll talk with the Alliance champions if they survive the trials, to see if they want to come with me."

"Rather dangerous if you ask me. If I was one of those lot, I certainly wouldn't want to go after fighting for my life in an arena."

"Yes, well, luckily you are not one of them, are you." Jaina rolled over. "Now, goodnight, Aegwynn."

* * *

Morning came quicker than Jaina would of liked. Fixing her hair, furs, cloak and battle threads, she and Aegwynn exited the tent. There was not many around at such an early hour of the morning, but true to what some had said – some adventurers were scattered in the spectator's box.

Some had challenged the Champions to friendly joust matches, and promptly lost. After all, they were not called their chosen for nothing. After the Ruler of Theramore and her aide was ushered to her private spectator's area, she noticed the leaders already there. Varian smiled at her. Jaina hesitated, but wholly smiled back.

She had to admit, despite his comments, Varian was behaving far more than Jaina would expect. Sitting beside him as he offered, the King's eyes twinkled with something she didn't know. It agitated her to the point where she finally asked 'what'.

"I approve of Tirion's methods of conducting these trials. I discovered quite the beast that had been rounded from the corners of Northrend to test the champion's mettle. If they can survive this dangerous land, that's one step closer to our strike team." he explained.

She merely paused. "Beast?"

"Yes. More than one, by the sounds of it."

"Hm."

Tirion's appearance came soon, as he entered his private box. Banners of the Crusade designated his faction. Paladins flanked him; and his very presence called for silence. The Herald cleared his throat, and announced the old Paladin. He nodded and gestured.

"Welcome, ladies, and gentlemen, to the Trial, of the Grand Crusader!" he boomed; and it rather took Jaina aback. His voice flooded the coliseum, filling every inch. Most likely, a mage had enhanced his voice for the announcements. It remained powerful and triumphant, rather than the waning strength she had witnessed earlier. Perhaps he just needed a good night's sleep.

"Your champions will be tested today, to their very limits. Only their skills and co-operation will be able to best the trials ahead! First, I shall introduce our heroes. Presenting our warriors, Marshal Jacob Alerius and Mokra the Skullcrusher!"

Riding on their respective horse and wolf mounts, the two made themselves present in the ring. Human and Orc spectators alike cheered for their champion, to which it steadily grew into who can become the loudest. The noise was grating on Jaina's ears; and she found herself thinking of a mass silence spell. The results would be disastrous.

"The rogues Deathstalker Visceri and Lana Stouthammer!"

As the dwarf woman and forsaken male entered the ring, thankfully the volume of noise wasn't about to kill the poor mage. They were more conserved about their cheer; although a lot more beer spilt on Lana's part. Their dwarf king Magni beamed with pride; whereas Sylvanas merely gave a cruel smile.

"Jaelyne Evensong and Zul'tore will serve as the group's beastmasters for this evening."

The hunters strived to the stage; Jaelyne's nightsaber padding after her. Zul'tore's own pet was not called yet, as he was confident in his strides and bow. Their respective factions mixed from conservative applause from the night elves to a burst of war songs in Zandalari by the Trolls.

"The shamans lend their aide, welcome Runok Wildmane and Colosos!"

This was what Jaina could appreciate. The draenei was humble, even more so as he was chosen champion. Runok too, had turned and prominently bowed up to the Tauren faction; paying his respects to them, and to Cairne.

"And finally, and by far not the least, the mages Ambrose Boltspark and Eressa Dawnsinger."

The gnome had opted to enter upon his mechnostrider, whereas Eressa deftly strode in with a trail of fire magic residue behind her. Grand appearances, Jaina couldn't blame them. They were powerful, she noted as she scanned them. They were all powerful. After the introductions was over, a large, inhumanely large beast was brought in. The human woman nearly gasped.

It was a magnataur.

Tirion licked his dry lips and spoke once more.

"Hailing from the deepest, darkest caverns of the Storm Peaks, Gormok the Impaler! Battle on, heroes! Let the Trials, begin!"


	4. Trial 1 - Gormak & Twin Worms

_AN: I think you can pretty much call the next few chapters: "That raid is written up in fiction format" But I try to make it original with the conversations between leaders and their judgements. I swear, in the next few chapters when the trials are all wrapped up, it'll get much more interesting. That's a promise!_

Marshal Jacob Alerius did not want to be facing the trials with the Horde.

He scowled beneath his golden Stormwind Marshal's helm, not even risking a glance to his 'counterpart'. Really, unworthy of that title. He was a savage Orc, and if his namesake didn't give away anything, then he didn't know what to suggest. When all the champions present had been briefed that they would be taking it together, it was also a test of their teamwork.

Could the Alliance work with the Horde, and visa versa? Would they be the shining example of unity, easily besting the hardships to come as they marched and rapped on the Lich King's door? He was appalled to realise that he would have to be, regardless if he liked to or not. Still, he wouldn't let his defeat be at the hands of their other team's misplay and disgrace.

"Keep up, Orc." he drummed out, the two of them charging in as he raised his lion-imprinted shield to deftly block the thrust of Gormok's polearm. The seemingly mindless creature was trying repeatedly to impale the warrior, although even if he got past the shield, the radiant armour would be found difficult to pierce with mere makeshift tools.

Mokra laughed at the humans audacity. "Save it for a real fight, human. This hardly qualifies."

Jacob sneered.

Everyone else set into position. Ambrose and Eressea stood either side at range; flinging arcane missiles and fireballs alike. Some more powerful spells erupted from the blood elf, such as a pyroblast.

Although if the powerful sorceress in her leader's box had anything to say about it, the formation could use more work – It was too hastily cast. Against another spell caster, they could easily counter it and brush it off. She pursed her lips, keeping a critical eye on both her and Ambrose. The gnome's grasp on the arcane surely showed, but so did the fact that he wasn't much of a fighter. In thesis and writing books and understanding, perhaps, but on the battlefield, there was more that could be desired.

Lana and Visceri struck, and Gormok let out a howl of guttural pain. The two rogues, having conferred briefly during the match as to where they should strike and when, had sprung their attack. It seemed the two formed into a teamwork far easier than Jacob and Mokra – the constant tauntings between the two made Gormok unsure if he should forget them both and go for the rogues at his backside.

He chose the latter.

Rearing up his massive legs, he brought them down for a staggering stomp, disorienting the warriors as he turned to swipe at the dwarf and forsaken. They were to swift and nimble, sprinting and whirling out of the way just in time for a planned aimed shot from Jaelyne, and poisoned one from Zul'tore.

The leaders were impressed by this tactic it seemed. The intentional threat was organised. A lot more could be said about the human and orc.

Jaina briefly glanced; noticing Varian's barely concealed disappointment in his champion. His ire did not lay in the fact the Stormwind representative couldn't put aside his difference – oh no, it was because he was being upstaged by the others. Carefully, she laid a hand on his pauldron, and although he could not feel her skin to his; the action calmed him.

"They need to work together, not against each other." she murmured softly to him. "These trials will test them of everything. Co-operation is key. Compare the difference from before the attack, and then the united one."

Varian was silent, but his scowl showed he didn't quite care what Jaina thought. She had often saw that look too many times, and she was hard-pressed not to mimic it. Sighing, she turned her attention back to the match.

Runok and Colosos used their restorative elements to empower the two warriors, clearing their head and allowing them to resume attacking. With three potency of poisons coursing through the magnataur, he gave one more roar before snatching up some creature from his pack. With surprising speed, he threw the beast straight at Ambrose.

It took a second for it to click what it was.

"Tinkers and troggs, get this bloody thing off of me!" the gnome squealed, vision blinded as the Snobbold scrabbled and scratched. Dizzy, and unable to cast, he flailed and tried to pry it off.

"I've got it!" Eressea announced to the group. This time, with a focused mind and a slow cast, the pyroblast she produced was far more potent and solid, rather than a floating liquid mess. The enlarged fireball sailed through the air, incinerating the Snobbold and freeing Ambrose from it's grasp. Slightly singed, but otherwise unharmed, the gnome gave a weary grin to the Blood elf, to which she found herself returning.

Jaina gave a hidden smile. That was better. When the situation presented itself, the elf was capable of focusing under stressed. It appeared beforehand, that she was perhaps nervous, and it was clouding her mind. Understandable, and she gave a willing cheer along with the other spectators to show her support.

Gormok's attacks were sluggish as the poisons completely overtook his system. He slurred his cry of battle, and his attacks were sloppy and easily blocked. Jacob took the mettle, applying all of his force in a shield slam. It knocked the beast back a few inches, and ultimately, Mokra landed the killing blow with a timely bladestorm.

The magnataur fell, before toppling over; silent. Everyone was tense for a moment, but he was truly dead. All of the spectators erupted in a cheer; their leaders calmly applauding.

Tirion acknowledged it, and nodded slowly. He stood up and gestured for an Argent mage to amplify his voice once more.

"Well fought, heroes, but that is just a taste as to what is to come. Steel yourselves for the twin terrors, Acidmaw and Dreadscale. Enter the arena!"

The very ground rumbled. The champions tensed up once more; and it wasn't long before the rumble turned into a near earthquake. Steadying themselves; the twin jormungar burst through the rippling earth and howled. They were huge, hulking wyrms of toxin and fire. One of them surfaced completely, starting to already slither to the group, mouth chittering with hunger.

They took notice of the one that had partially stayed in the ground, serving as some kind of turret as it began to spray paralytic toxic bile everywhere.

They moved.

"I'll take – Acidmaw I assume – get that fire one away from the rest!" Jacob immediately announced, raising his shield to block the spray. It dropped off like water, coating the very ground and leaving it as a hazard. He rushed forward, charging his entire bulk against the stationary one. It moved, but did not budge from it's position. Leering, the beast moved to bite him.

The entire jaw and mandibles crashed against his shield, and the worm was forced to raise up to avoid the sweeping slash. Fully grasping his attention, Jacob circled around it, and the jormungar followed; facing away from their party.

Mokra meanwhile, made an impressive leap of agility and effectively landed on Dreadscale. It faulted, mouth half open in agape in animal stupidity, before growling and spewing scorching hot bile upon him. His armour soaked up most of it, but he grimaced as he was now coated with the stuff.

But, as Jacob had said, he kept the mobile one as that, around the party and never directly facing them. Ambrose and Eressea showered it with ice and frostfire, whereas Lana and Visceri trailed behind the beast and made deadly, swift motions, but the worm was immune to their poison. They can't rely on the same tactic twice.

The shamans made sure that Mokra was kept healthy despite the continuous burn, and the hunters were making remarkable shots, but only at opportune moments. The hide of the jormungar was far too thick for their arrows to penetrate, so thus they had to rely on the fleshy front. As Mokra was careful of not letting the beast's spray of fiery bile move to the party; their strikes were few and far between.

Meanwhile, Varian beamed with pride, now. "A natural born leader." he whispered to Jaina, gesturing to Jacob. "Selfless in his act to face the crippling poisons for them. Practically gave the Orc the easier twin."

She bristled. "Humble too, I hope."

The King waved his hand dismissively. "Of course." he peered at her. "You seem intent on focusing on the mages."

"A silly observation, Varian." Jaina couldn't help the slight grin. "Considering I don't have a champion out in the field, I'm doing the next best thing and assessing them instead. After the dreadful Gormok, they seemed to of slimmed into their roles easily." she relaxed.

"I'm happy at their adaptation too. Eressea clearly specialises in pyromancy, but instead of leaving herself completely without options, she's imbued frost to her fire. That's clever on her part. Ambrose is content to stick with his arcane, and their spell weaving works so perfectly together, like a tapestry. I wonder if they see it too..."

Varian blankly looked to her. It wasn't that he was thick or stupid – he just wasn't a mage. He was not enthusiastic as Jaina was, nor could appreciate the finer things to do with all that it entailed.

She chuckled quietly. "Basically, their magic mesh well together, and it's strong."

"Ah."

Suddenly, Jaina coughed. "It appears as if your champion is faltering."

This got the king to immediately turn his attention onto the match.

Indeed, Jacob was slowing. Pools of acid gathered in several spots where he had stood before, and not to mention the fact he had got sprayed with the bile. It didn't hurt, so he brushed it off at first, but the more he moved, the more he attacked, the slower and weaker he felt.

Even moving felt like a monumental thing to do; and he had to strain his muscles to their full potential. This was not without notice, as Colosos gave a worried cry of upset that his healing was not aiding the situation. Even Runok looked disturbed by this poison, and found both he, nor the Draenei, could cleanse it.

"Laddie! What are ye doin'!" Lana called. "Stop standin' around like a sittin' duck and get yer arse into gear!" The rogue briefly had to pull back along with her silent companion as Dreadscale's tail raised and thumped loudly, trying to sweep the annoying pests at his back.

"Believe me, Stouthammer, I'm TRYING!" Jacob barely managed to retort; the paralysis nearly spread to his entire system. He could only perform a strained walk. Lifting and attacking with his weapons was out of the question at this point, and he winced as the beast veered up, ready to bite the knight now that Acidmaw had the upperhand.

"Weak!" Mokra snorted. "I'll take both of these scaly garden worms on!" The warrior came barrelling through, but the moment his fiery form came into contact with Jacob's poisoned, crippled one, something happened.

The burning bile began to expel the infection off from the Stormwind Champion, giving him movement just in time to smack the beast's muzzle with his shield with full power. The stationary worm staggered to the side, smashing into Dreadscale as he had been following the Orc. The two beasts collided, forcing them to both burrow underground with a mad hiss.

Rendered free of the paralysis, Jacob flexed his hands in this brief respite. "I suppose I owe you something." to which the orc simply grunted.

"Interesting.. it seems the fire from Dreadscale has a volatile reaction of evaporating and eradicating Acidmaw's toxins!" Ambrose squeaked, rubbing his chin. "I'd like to study that in a later date. I'm quite the king when it comes to alchemy, chemicals and-"

"Ack, later!" answered Lana, as the earth began to rumble once more. "Business before pleasure!"

They emerged once more, although this time they noted it was Dreadscale that was stationary. No matter. The fight continued on, dangerous, but they now had the knowledge of removing the toxin before it got to the point of Jacob's state. Jaina Proudmoore had to hand it to them, they were deviously quick thinkers and the grasps of different tactics and solutions impressed her more than she'd admit.

Finally, they were down, by a piercing shot of Zul'tore and the backstab of both the Deathstalker and Stouthammer. The worms gave a lasting cry, before falling to the ground, sharing it with Gormak, dead.

The spectators were wild in their display, and they relaxed only a pinch. After all, the last beast was to be presented. It would be stronger than the rest, pose more deadly threat. Deemed that they had enough time to recuperate from the battle, something Scourge nor the Lich King wouldn't do, Tirion rose.

"Your continued demonstration of unity and skill impresses me, heroes! However.. the air freezes with the introduction of our next combatant, Icehowl. Kill or be killed, champions!"

One last beast to complete the first test. The team looked to each other as indeed, the very air started to freeze at the wendigo's arrival. They nodded to eachother.

The champions were ready.


	5. Trial 1 - Icehowl

_AN: Okay, maybe I should add "Small hints of Varian/Jaina and Ambrose/Eressea" to the warning list. Don't even ask about the last two. I just- I'm developing characters that have little to no dialogue or personality. Sue me._

Icehowl's arrival was much more chaotic than the jormungar, if that was possible.

With the air frozen – if it hadn't already by the very fact they was in Icecrown – they could only wait for it to appear. The howling was the second sign afterwards; followed by thundering steps. Released from his chains and un-tranquillized, the beast was, needless to say, not in the greatest of moods.

It burst through the very coliseum wall; thankfully not in an area occupied by spectators. They gasped, a mix of fear and terror and excitement. Jaina Proudmoore, however, wrinkled her nose, unimpressed by the brutish display. It wasn't that the beast wasn't a sight to behold, with coarse, thick fur and powerful crashes as it bounded in the area, clearly untamed, but she never found reckless behaviour endearing.

"Alright, Mages, Shamans, Hunters, spread around!" the human knight began shouting, directing his party accordingly. He made a quick sidestep dodge as the wendigo's massive fist came colliding down, smashing into the ground and making the very arena shake with his strength. The assortment of races complied with Jacob's tactic, keeping themselves ranged accordingly and dotted around the map.

As Jacob was busy dealing orders, Mokra took on the reins of handling Icehowl. With a deadly arc of his weapon, it pierced against his side. Globules of blood came spurting out, but a mere paper cut wouldn't be enough to put the enraged beast down. Icehowl whirled, catching the unfortunate orc in his entirety and sending the warrior flying into the wall. The spectator's side that he smashed into rumbled.

Wincing, Mokra quickly shook it off with the aide of the two shamans. The beast bounded towards him, and the warrior knew he had the wendigo's full attention. Noting the whirl, he decided to stay at his position against the wall, so that he would be bounced about like a ball.

Almost immediately after, Icehowl inhaled deeply, expelling the air in front of him in a cone of Arctic breath. The temperature was unimaginable – enough to actually freeze Mokra. If it wasn't for Jacob rushing up and smashing the ice with his shield after the wendigo finished, then he would have been a sitting ice block. The other warrior merely acknowledged it with a nod.

As they finished positioning, Lana and Visceri struck. Much like the twin worms, their lethal toxins were useless, but that did not mean that they were hindered. Staying primarily behind Icehowl, they attacked together, completely in synergy with their dodging and careful of their attacks.

Jaelyne and Zul'tore let loose a torrent of arrows, being more active in their archery than the previous fight. With a simple nod from the night elf huntress, her night saber gave off a courageous roar, sprinting and leaping with great agility, landing atop of Icehowl and sinking her fangs into the back of the beast's neck, beginning to rending his back with her sharp talons.

Screaming in pain, Icehowl solved this problem by scrambling to the middle of the arena, rearing up and jumping. With all of his weight, he performed a massive crashed, sending everyone flying into walls and momentarily staggered and dazed. The action shook the night saber off, and it quickly scampered off back to Jaelyne.

Snorting in building fury, the wendigo turned and fixated upon Colosos.

It started to rear, lowering it's head and positioned it's large, curved horns.

"Get out of the way!" both Mokra and Jacob found themselves shouting. The Draenei, did the most logical thing. Too hindered by the slam of the wall, he shifted into his astral wolf. Faster on four legs than two; he managed to get away in the nick of time.

Icehowl, head first, collided into the wall and gave a pained howl. Unfortunately, these beasts were bred with thick, nigh impenetrable skulls; and the action only served to stun him for a few seconds. The few seconds were all they needed; however, the party begun flinging fireballs and arrows, conjuring arcane blasts, slashing with daggers, swords, and smashing with maces, and even a few lightning bolts from the support.

Shaking his head and wiping off the wall debris, the beast waved off their attacks like it was nothing. He turned, and Jacob now taunted to beast to the wall. He and orc warrior begrudgingly began to work somewhat together as the fight progressed, and had settled on an agreement to alternate between taking the beast's ire.

This did not go unnoticed, of course. Jaina found herself smiling in slight pride for both Jacob and Mokra. Of course, this may not be permanent, or even that long, but perhaps they could see the benefit of unity rather than divided. She briefly glanced over towards Varian.

The human king was engrossed with the fight, a look of concentrated thought playing across his face. He rubbed his chin gingerly, staring down. The sorceress supposed this was better than barely concealed disgust. He had gone from the start of Icehowl's arrival to now without a single, thinly-veiled racist comment.

"The champions are certainly starting to shape up. They are beginning to work in perfect unity." she murmured to him, offering Varian a smile. The king looked, breaking his concentration and couldn't help but return her warm smile back.

"Indeed." he replied. "While .. I still feel the way I do about them working with savage- The Horde" he corrected himself with a slight cough. "I can see the benefits. The Lich King is expecting a disorganized mess, something he could easily take down."

His eyes darkened. "The Alliance, and the Heroes of Azeroth will prove otherwise."

Jaina hummed, the match now out of the mind as it became a rinse and repeat tactic – Icehowl was smarter than a jormungar, but he was still a stupid beast working on instinct. As the champions continued to fight, she decided she may drop the ball with the King, with her plans, in a vain hope that perhaps he may be more supportive of it.

"I'm going to stay in Icecrown for a while after the trials." she casually began, drumming her fingers against the railings. Jaina paused, noting that she had his full interest. He peaked an eyebrow of inquiry. She took that as incentive to continue.

"There may be a way to stop the Lich King without a full scale raid on his Citadel. I believe if I can some how communicate with-"

"Jaina, that's out of the question." Varian Wyrnn suddenly grounded. "You are not going anywhere near the Citadel on your own. I forbid it."

The woman briefly rolled her eyes. "I'm not stupid, Varian. I wouldn't go alone. You know full well I can take care of myself."

"Who, then?"

She opted to remain silent, but with a slight tilt of her head, her eyes directed towards the champions. Icehowl's attacks were few and far between now, and they had nearly slain the deadly wendigo. Varian followed her eyes, and his previous smile dropped to a frown.

"Out of the question." he repeated once more, adamant.

"It would be their choice if they do or do not." Jaina pointed out. "You and I both know you wont be able to stop me from visiting the Frozen Halls."

Varian furrowed his eyebrows; lips twisted in a thin line. "Don't tempt me, Jaina. If it gets to that point, I will force my hand."

She stared at him. The King was not wavered by her display, but ultimately sighed, turning away and watching the remainder of the match. Jaina continued to put on a cold shoulder towards him after that. She knew, Varian couldn't stop her. Even if he arrived at the Frozen Halls itself to try, she was a mage. Blinking, invisibility.. there was always more than one way to skin a cat.

Satisfied that there was nothing the King could try to do, she looked back at the match just in time for Eressea and Ambrose to jointly finish off Icehowl with a combined pyromancy technique.

The wendigo gave a tremendous, lasting cry, before falling to the ground as a smouldering heap. Heralds and other Argent Crusaders stepped in to the clear the arena, ready for the next trial. Highlord Tirion Fordring rose.

"Congratulations, champions! I commend you both! The power, the unity you brought forth today shows us true strength. As Highlord, I deem that you have passed this trial." he paused.

The champions relaxed, rewarding themselves and praising each other.

"Recover your strength as we set up the next trial. You have proved that you can face against the beasts that Northrend has to offer. But what of a greater threat? Something that has loomed above us ever since?"

Silence overtook the coliseum. As the mages and shamans restored their mana, and the melee fighters relaxed, they were berwildered as what the next challenge could come. Something that they have been against before? It could be a number of things – Old Gods, their minions, necromancers and demons, naga...

"Grand Warlock Wilfred Fizzlebang will summon forth your next challenge. Stand by for his entry! He will provide you a challenge that the Burning Legion has to offer. How will you face, champions?"

The air, while cold, took on a different type of nausea. The gnomish warlock hobbled along, beaming with utter pride of his title and accomplishments. The spectators were uneasy, unsure if it would be appropriate to heckle and boo or say anything at all. After all, if Highlord Tirion allowed him to walk and perform this ritual, then surely it was.. acceptable.

Jaina blanched. It didn't help that the warlock belonged to the Alliance. She didn't dare risk a look up towards the likes of Thrall and Garrosh.

"Thank you, Highlord! Now challengers, I will begin the ritual of summoning! When I am done, a fearsome Doomguard will appear!" the gnome gleefully cackled, rubbing his grubby little hands together.

"Prepare.. for OBLIVION!"

A massive, towering portal appeared, held by assisting, demonic claws. The champions looked up- and up- and up- It seemed no end to how tall this portal was. They grimaced – and could only try and diminish the brewing fear as it was demon that stepped through, clearly NOT a doomguard.

The gnome, either misinformed, ignorant, stupid, or all three, pointed up at the red lord and grinned wickedly. "Ah ha! Behold the absolute power of Wilfred Fizzlebang, master summoner! You are bound to ME, demon!"

The eredar gave an indignant sniff, twisting his lips in a sneer. His voice, mangled by his demonic taint, boomed through. "Trifling gnome, your arrogance will be your undoing!"

"But I'm in charge her-"

Wilfred was quickly silenced, the demon lord using his powers to snap the gnome's pitiful neck. As they got more than what they bargained for, Tirion was hard-pressed not to call the trial off to deal with the eredar. But, as he looked at the determined, ready, and slightly fearful faces of the champions, he knew it would be a great test. If they could over come it, if they could prove themselves against a demon such as the one before them...

"Quickly heroes!" he shouted. "Destroy the demon lord before it can open a portal to its twisted demonic realm!"

Jaina looked over to Tirion, almost appalled that he, and the Argent Crusade, was not going to assist. She swept her eyes across the leaders. Garrosh stood out, his anger about this the most noticeable, even with her old friend's attempts to pacify him. Beside her, Varian was practically steaming at this seeming besmirch on the Alliance's good name. She bit her lip, looking to the champions.

She wanted to blink in and assist them with the eredar, but she knew that would disqualify the trial and a whole lot of other complications. If Tirion believed they could handle it, then she really should be fine with sitting and watching this.

Jaina was not fine. She was beginning to doubt the Highlord. The mage bit her lip, watching on the edge of her seat. The eredar in the centre of the arena laughed maniacally, before gesturing grandly.

"You face Jaraxxus, eredar lord of the Burning Legion!"

The fight begun.


	6. Trial 2 - Lord Jaraxxus

Needless to say, the transition from fighting animals to an eredar lord was jarring, at very best.

The large demon's hands burst into a flare of felfire, green and daunting, dancing around his fingers. He merely had to point to one of the champions for it to be transferred from his hands to them. His unfortunate victim was Lana Stouthammer. The dwarven rogue, whom beforehand had yet to reapply a fresh coat of toxins to her exceedingly sharp blade, had no time to perform a vanish act. The cursed flames licked at her skin, burning through her very being, as if igniting her soul on fire.

The powerful magic was, exactly that; the green spreading and charring the very ground. Lana was forced to move, but found it hard to do so as a scream ripped from her throat and unimaginable pain seared through her person. The dwarf had been through a lot, and being one of the more pain tolerant members of the assembled group, did not do much for their morale.

Both Draenei and Tauren shaman immediately set onto work with their cleansing. The draenei murmured a prayer to the water elemental to aid with his more watery spells such as Riptide. The pure doused the flames that plagued Lana, but it did nothing to help her cope with her singed soul.

The motions set Jacob in a flurry, he didn't know quite how to approach or even begin to assault Jaraxxus, but anything was surely better than standing, gaping like a peasant. He squared himself before charging head first. Mokra seemed to gather a similar idea to him; joining him in the assault. The Orc plunged his sword straight into the leg of the demon, but it did nothing more than merely tickle it.

And Jaraxxus was not _ticklish._

Flaring his nostrils at the audacity of the 'lesser races', the eredar kicked the knight and warrior away and conjured up more hellish flames. He was set to create a fireball, only to become surprised and enraged momentarily after – the feeling of some inferior magic suppressing his own, attempting to match it's might with a counter. He just couldn't believe it worked; as he was denied ability to tap into his felmagic. Of course, he was a being of such things in another sense. How the eredar lord wielded magic was far, far different to how a human manipulated it.

Or in this case, a blood elf.

"Insignificant gnat!" he spat at the woman, who dared defy him. "Do you believe your pathetic parlour tricks can stop me?"

Eressea did not reply; beads of sweat trickling down her pretty face. Her blonde hair, which had been tied in a ponytail; had became loose with her erratic, prolonged spellcasting. She was exhausted from the beasts, and it pushed her to the limit. However she would not back down, suppressing Jaraxxus' spell had taken quite a bit out of her.

"I, however, have more than simply fire at my disposal." a cruel smile fitted on the eredar's face, and before anyone could move, jagged prongs of demonic green lightning shot from his fingertips, striking the blood elf straight through her chest. She gave an airy gasp of pain; eyes wide open and her frame shaking.

It didn't stop there. The lightning jumped from her, into the one closest to her; Ambrose. The gnome's cast of an arcane blast was cut, having to suffer both the attack and magical backlash of a failed spell. A whimper rippled through the gnome, almost falling to one knee.

Colosos was quick at work. Weaving his fingers and throwing down a water totem that periodically preached to the spirits; granting them a stream of steady health, he linked a chain of restorative magic that jumped through the two mages just as Jaraxxus had to harm them. Likewise, Runok set up an encirclement of totems of all different elements. Fire to cleanse. Earth to strengthen. Air to ease. Water to mend.

Both hunters of the group, however, were at a loss. Their arrows were able to penetrate the flesh, but demon's were as thick as the beasts they faced before. It was a mere paper cut in the grand scheme of things. The eredar leered their way, and with a casual flick of his wrist, he sent a quick fireball straight at them. Both mages were still recovering to counter it, Lana was almost robotic in her attacks to try and stop it too.

The Deathstalker found that his usual way to deal with spellcasters wouldn't quite work for the lord before them. Kicking him wasn't exactly a viable option. As the impressively large fireball came hurtling towards them, Jaelyne was too slow. She knew she couldn't dodge in time.

Her night saber gave a stunning roar, leaping into the air and taking the attack for her mistress. The cat fell to the ground; scorched, unmoving. The huntress stared, exclaiming something in Darnassian. She usually was reserved, quite and rarely spoke, but immediately streams of sentences of her native language poured out from her as she fell to her knees, bow clutched limply as she rested her free arm over her lifelong companion.

Zul'tore, usually dispassionate amongst such display of grief, found himself distressed by the huntress. He respected her marksmanship, and he had to admit, even he felt put off by it, as if he wanted to comfort her and get her back into the zone before she got herself killed.

Jaraxxus sniffed. "Pathetic."

* * *

This display alone was enough to almost set Jaina off. Despite her initial response of giving Varian the cold-shoulder after their brief discussion, she whipped towards him; her eyes like tempests at what was occurring at the arena. He glanced to her; himself a picture of fury at the supposed stain that now smeared the Alliance thanks to the gnome.

"We cannot just sit here!" she hissed. "Tirion cannot expect us to sit here and watch happily as an eredar lord of the Burning Legion is running rampant, with ideas to open more portals! This is a crisis that demands action!"

"Let the heroes handle it." Varian bounced back. "Think of it as one ultimate test of skill. If they win, they will be proven worthy. It will strengthen them more than they already are. As well, you can see if they'll be adequate for your little expedition later, if you're still so adamant about that."

Jaina opened her mouth and closed it; the familiar feel of bubbling rage brewing in the pit of her stomach. Sometimes, Varian's stubbornness clashed with her so badly, and pressed all the wrong buttons at the wrong time.

"How can you even say that!" she snapped. "Look at them! They've hardly _scratched_-"

"If they fail, then we'll take action." the King shrugged. "This arena is for the purpose of testing the champions and seeing if they are worthy of the elite force. They agreed to participate, they knew the consequences of failure."

He frowned. "Nobody said it would be fun and games, Jaina."

It was that moment Jaina wish she took Aegywnn's offer of staying in Theramore. It was a choice to attend, how 'invaluable' her opinion was or not. Her shoulders slumped, and she fell back against her chair. The fiery fury within her simmered and froze over to dread. Of course she knew the purpose of the coliseum, and she knew the champions accepted death if they turned out to be too weak for the Grand Crusader's trials.

But this was a circumstance. This, Lord Jaraxxus, was never meant to happen.

Her eyes drifted to Tirion. His face was absolutely unreadable; craggy eyebrows furrowed and a frown etched into his face, expressing the wrinkles that adorned his features. He stroked his beard idly with a gauntleted hand.

Jaina closed her eyes and sighed slowly.

* * *

Letting out a furious scream of rage, Jaelyne, fuelled now by taking revenge against the demon for her fallen companion, let loose piercing arrow after arrow. Zul'tore followed her example immediately after, giving a reminder to watch out for the magic flames.

The eredar lord laughed, even as the arrows of anger embedded into his flesh and actually drew his vile, black blood, and with some marginal effort; he created a portal, assisted by the shadowy claws. As if ripping the very fabric of space and time itself, they pulled apart a rift; opening up a portal of similar size to Jaraxxus.

"Come forth, sister! Your master calls!" he announced with what they could only assume was glee. Slender legs with knee-high, thick battle boots stepped through first, before the shedevil appeared in all her glory. The six armed female, a scimitar and other intricately forged blades clutched in each adorned, decorated hand.

Although her face was of priceless beauty, it was marred by the cold malice and fanaticism that the Shivarra are known for. The Mistress of Pain glanced down at the mortals below her; and a grin spread across her perfect face. The very action bode ill for them. At least this time, Mokra and Jacob were sure their conjoined efforts would take this one down.

"Trust your bloody warlocks to fuck up this badly!" the orc growled out as both he and Jacob charged at the Shivarra, who seemed ecstatic to have new 'toys' to play with. With her blades, she was able to defend herself from both his and the humans attacks. The void portal stayed, which they found even being near tapped them of their energy. They hardly had a choice.

"Can we not do this now?!" Jacob shot back. "Belittle the Alliance later. Let's focus on, you know, surviving!"

"I plan on passing!" Mokra replied; however was content to drop the issue for now. They continued to trade blows with the Mistress; deflecting, parrying, getting a few decent slices against the unprotected parts of her armour. Despite her alluring, seductive appearance, the armour wasn't the most practical. Wounds began to mar her dark blue skin. "How do you suppose we even take him down? Our attacks are practically useless."

Jacob mused for a moment, risking a glance up at Jaraxxus as he continued to rain hell fire down upon them, some which was interrupted by the likes of Eressea and Ambrose. Lana and Visceri's strikes were not as effective as their magic, but they were dealing some amount of damage, even if it seemed the eredar lord brushed it off. A variety of arrows stuck in his bare chest (the knight suddenly wondered why these demons were so unprotected, but it didn't matter – better for them) and it did not hinder him so.

He glanced to the left. Colosos and Runok was fatigued with their spells, but the spirits were on their side. They could see the dire situation, and they were answering their calls with potency.

"I suppose let Boltspark and Dawnsinger take care of it. They seem to be doing.." he winced when he took note of their haggard expressions. He wondered what stopped them from outright collapsing. "..Well."

"Well isn't good enough!" Mokra proclaimed with a forward thrust, the entirety of his sword slicing through the Shivarra's leg before he sliced up and cut off at the hip. She let off a shriek, which seemed less pained and more pleasured. The orc was a little disturbed, but nevertheless continued attacking.

The blood elf Eressea licked her lips, glancing to the gnome to her side. She spoke in a hushed, but quick voice. "Ambrose. What if we combined our attacks?"

The gnome glanced up at her wearily; grey hair matted with sweat; his breathing shallow from all the spellcasting he had done. "I thought that was what we was doing already."

She shook her head. "No, no, you misunderstand me. If I used you as a conduit, it'd temporarily link our spells together, creating a more powerful weave to attack with. Jaraxxus is powerful, but he's not invincible." she chewed on her lip.

"That would only really work if our magic had a similar pattern. If my body rejected the foreign magic it could easily kill me, kill you, or kill us both." the arcanist shot back, however he was unsure. They hardly had the time to test if their magic did work together, and it was an experimental and dangerous practice all together.

"We hardly have a choice in the matter. Either he kills us all, or we can die trying something valiant." her eyes hardened. "Or it works, and we have a chance. We can speculate on the ifs, whats and hows when we're behind textbooks."

He gave a slight lopsided grin. "You was more of a practical student, wasn't you?"

"As if my choice of specialization didn't give that away." she returned, although lightly. "Life stories later. You work in the arcane, I work in the fire, but I have had some dabbling in arcane as well."

"If I survive, I'm writing a thesis on this."

"If we survive, I will buy every damn copy of it."

Satisfied, the gnome allowed the blood elf to grip onto his free hand. Immediately the feel of her magic pooled into his; the mana mixing. He half expected her to just, outright steal his magic from tapping into it, but no. She was restrained, and that sort of thing can happen after they taken out the demon lord.

He felt as if he was the Archmage of Stormwind when she began feeding her mana and magic into him. It was as if he suddenly knew how to conjure up pyroblasts and conflagrations. However, he put that knowledge aside. As he was being used as the outsource, he would tap into his own power, and using hers, the arcane spells would be unimaginable.

As he was happy that he nor Eressea was about to explode any time soon due to a magic overload – which was still a possibility. He could quite accidentally absorb to much of her power and be driven insane. Those thoughts aside, he began drawing the runes in the air and suddenly seized his fist; clutching tightly and closing it around the drawn invisible runes to create the arcane blast aimed straight at Jaraxxus.

It hit the eredar lord as it was unexpected, even staggering the great demon. A flinch of pain – true pain actually passed him. He found the source of his ire – the two pesky creatures who believed they could match him in power. He sneered openly when he saw what method they attempted to try and best him.

He was momentarily distracted as a scream, not one of pleasure, but of true pain rippled from his slave. His head turn, noticing that the two warriors had actually managed to kill her. It was no matter; another could easily be summoned from the portal. Jaraxxus began to note that, the longer they went on, the more weary and weak he was starting to feel.

The pathetic elf and the troll's puny arrows had actually begun to do a number on him, and as he carelessly brushed them off, snapping the wooden shafts, the arrowhead (troll aside, as he used crossbow bullets) remained embedded inside of his flesh, keeping the perpetual bleed and stopping his natural regeneration.

The rogues too, had made it quite difficult to walk around without splitting open a numerous amount of grievous wounds that littered on his legs.

And now, the combined efforts of the two mages channelling empowered spells..

He would not loose to the likes of mortals!

The demon snarled, summoning up an infernal that shot down from the sky like a meteor. It crashed into the ground, the shamans forced to leap out of the way before it hit them. From the crater, infernal rocks began to form, their hatred being their drive and will. It was a vague humanoid shape, but full of death and destruction.

Jacob and Mokra shared a look.

"Visceri, Lana, with us! Get this son of a bitch down!" The orc proclaimed. The two rogues were all too happy to abandon their futileness attacks against the eredar and join their duo commanders against the fel fire infernal. They almost shared an exact sigh of exasperation at what they would be attacking, though – their steel daggers was not the best against.. well, living rock. Jacob's mace would prove invaluable.

"Boltspark! Dawnsinger! Continue your attack on Jaraxuss!" the human shouted, as he slammed his shield into the side of the rock, knocking a boulder of the place and making the minion a little lopsided. "I don't know what in the Holy Light you are doing but it is working!"

He continued. "Colosos, Wildmane, keep us pepped with your totems. Throw in a few elemental attacks to assist the mages! Stay away from the flames, spread out to avoid that lightning if he tries to pull that stunt again. You have to interrupt that fireball-spell now that our casters are.. doing whatever that is!"

"Insolent whelps!" the eredar lord shouted, interrupting the knight's errant commanding and attempting to conjure up another fireball, this time bigger and stronger. But, as per ordered, the Draenei shaman easily stopped him with a powerful gust of wind, known as Windshear, which halted it.

"Evensong- Jaelyne." Jacob met eyes with the Night Elf. She still mourned for the loss of her cat, and the only signs of that grief, aside from the rage shown before, was tracks of tears that fell from her eyes that had long since dried up from the heat of the battle.

"Aim your shot, Jaelyne. This is your kill."

Even as Jaraxus could not believe the words that fell from the human's lips, the huntress nodded and aimed up a shot. She looked over to the mages. They nodded. At the exact time the arrow was sent loose, a built up arcane blast, empowered by two mages, shot from them too. Both hit the demon lord, and he, for the first time in millennia, felt true pain.

Thus, Lord Jaraxxus, Eredar Lord of the Burning Legion, fell on that day, by five members of the Alliance, and five members of the Horde. Silence fell throughout the coliseum, only the sounds of rocks falling to the ground as the infernal had no master to command it. The red demon collapsed to the ground, defeated, dead, in a pool of his own, corrupted, bile-like blood.

No one cheered. No one dared to.

Highlord Tirion Fordring raised, his voice piercing the thick air far more than the arrival of a demon lord could of. His tone, it was.. monotonous, devoid of life. Blank.

"The loss of Wilfred Fizzlebang, while unfortunate, should be a lesson to those that dare dabble in dark magic." It was uncaring, cold, even for one that was supposed to be warmth and forgiving. The Light surely was cruel to those who besmirch it. Even as he spoke however, his voice was hollow.

He opened to begin once again, but the sudden roar of fury brought everything to life. Garrosh Hellscream, son of Grom Hellscream, slammed his mighty hands against his railings and pointed straight accusingly at Varian. Thrall attempted to quell his burning, frothing rage, but he practically shoved the Warchief away.

"Treacherous Alliance dogs!" he accused outright; leering savagely. "Your kind DARES summon a demon lord against the warriors of the HORDE?!"

Gesturing to the champions below, it didn't seem to enter his head that the Alliance champions were equally as threatened. But the accusation was out in the open; and the King could be rather tunnel-visioned at times.

"Your deaths will be swift!"

Jaina knew that the redish-brown orc was trying to get a rise out of the King. She tried to step in, playing peacekeeper. She carefully laid a hand against his pauldron but was shocked when he brushed her off and gripped both railings tightly. She could imagine his knuckles turning white.

"The Alliance doesn't need the help of a demon lord to deal with Horde filth. Come, pig!" he retorted.

Tirion knew if he didn't act, it would get violent against the two, and quick. He had to reach a compromise that would appease both factions. He ordered silence, his voice booming over the two men insulting each other to ensure he was heard.

"Enough! The both of you! There is no conspiracy here! The Warlock acted on his own accord – outside of the influence of the Alliance!" he ground his teeth.

"The next match would be against champions of the Argent Crusade, but I can see now you both will not be appeased until a display of shallow defence of what you claim is 'honour' or 'pride' is enacted. Very well. In place of the knights, Garrosh will call five champions to fight the Alliance in the ring.

Varian, likewise, will call five champions to fight the Horde.

The Champions already present will remain as they are now, and are separate to the ones called. They will fight the opposing faction's new warriors." He finally, after the entirety of the match, gave a long, drawn out, sigh.

"State your warriors!"

* * *

_AN: Oh my gosh oh my gosh I got my first review! And some follows! Thanks a lot guys. It means a lot that people are actually coming back after a new chapter and reading it! I seriously hope I haven't jeopardized it with this chapter. I kinda take quite a lot of liberties when it comes to spellcasting. Not overly out of character or possibility, but I could see it as a possibility._


	7. Trial 3 - Faction Champions

Jaina feverishly looked between Varian and across the arena to Garrosh. The other leaders remained respectively silent, although the sorceress' gaze met her old friends. For a moment in time, everything was still, and they were absorbed in their own shared look. Disappointment was clear on his face. Guilt was on hers.

She was guilty and remorseful that she couldn't stop the hotheaded King and his deep-ridden racism. Some scars ran deeper than others.

Thrall was disappointed in Garrosh. As the Warchief, the green orc could tell that the gnome warlock, like Tirion had said, was not affiliated with the Alliance. If anything, summoning Jaraxxus could of very well been an accident. Silently, Crusaders entered the arena and cleared it of the blood and the body.

The Champions were frozen themselves, but warily began to restore mana and their health. Eressea ended her connection in Ambrose, stumbling and unable to stop the fall. The gnome caught her, somewhat, and helped the blood elf to sit. She was ever so pale, more so than what she already was. He murmured something to her, but it was lost words that meant nothing. The Blood Elf offered a wavering smile.

It wouldn't last. Their ten party group would be split, divided – cut into their nations. This was the exact opposite of what Tirion wanted. This is why he was disgraced with the Human King and Son of Hellscream's actions.

Time resumed when the Highlord gestured for Varian to start first.

"Three champions of Stormwind will enter the ring, and if our High Priestess allows, Two Night Elven." He paused, looking to Tyrande Whisperwind. It was as if every pair of eyes suddenly focused upon the graciously beautiful Priestess.

With delicate movements, it took someone with the keenest of eyes to note the twitch of her full lips, a pre set of a frown. However, she slowly found herself nodding, weaving her nimble fingers together and speaking. Her voice was calm, carried by an undercurrent of serenity and authority.

"I shall allow two of my champions to be called forth – but of my own choosing." she spoke. "Kavina Groovesong, Alyssia Moonstalker. Enter the arena."

They could not mistake the huntress whom jumped from the spectators down to the arena, landing with as much grace as her lionness that followed suit. Her outfit was different to Jaelyne. It sported a more tribal and survival outlook; and any member of the Horde whom was acquainted with battlegrounds such as Warsong Gulch would know that this one took great pleasure in defending her land and Alliance.

She did not even look at Jaelyne, nor her deceased pet.

Kavina, on the other hand, came down swiftly in the form of a purple feathered bird, sporting colours of homeland. A swift change brought about another form, an owlbeast known as Moonkins. The bear like bird creature snorted in disdain for the Horde, shifting her balance alignment from solar to moonlight.

Jacob raised a hand, removing his helmet and tossing it to the ground. Face now exposed; it was clear that his skin glistened with sweat and his eyes bloodshot of tension. He turned to his King, although remained forcefully silent. It was the first time since the knight could remember that he did not want to fight the Horde Champions.

It wasn't that he suddenly liked all of them and was about to wave the white flag, but fighting with Mokra and the others made him think. With the challenges that had been presented, the Skullcrusher could of easily used it to his advantage. The best examples was when he was paralysed and frozen. The Orc could of killed the Marshal and dealt with the consequences later.

But he didn't.

He had helped him. The Marshal wasn't about to claim blindness when he had saw how his arcanist worked well with their pyromancer, how his shaman to theirs, and the two rogues whom were swiftly making a name for themselves. The unity, to which he thought would have been rubbish from the get go, proved to him time and time again their strength.

Naturally he and Mokra would continue to but heads time and time again, that was simply who they were. He grimaced, seeing the heavy determination in Varian's face. At least he was not making them fight the champions that they entered with.

"Baelnor Lightbearer. Tyrius Duskblade. Brienna Nightfell. Enter."

The three humans, much like the night elves before them, hopped down from the spectator's stand and into the arena, joining the druid and huntress as the first champions had split into their respective Horde and Alliance parties.

Baelnor and Tyrius looked so similar, it wouldn't be a stretch to call them brothers. However, the two despised each other, as one was a man of the light, and the other was a death knight. They put that aside to face the greater filth at hand – the enemy. The Horde. The priest joined them shortly, tapping into her shadow form. Tendrils of darkness spread all over her; enveloping her with a dark aura.

The Paladin murmured a brief prayer to the Light, before blessing them with the likes of kings. Likewise, the Priest had done the same to bless them with Fortitude.

The Death Knight merely patted his battle horn that lay at his hip. When the battle begun, he would grant them strength that the song reaped. The Huntress and Druid did not regard them any more kindly than they did the Horde. They were ruthless in the battlefield. They did not need their help.

Tirion gestured to Garrosh.

The orc thumped his chest with his fist. "Two orcish champions for me. I, however, have two Tauren fighters in mind, and a blood elf to make the fifth."

He gave a pointed look over towards Carine Bloodhoof, the Tauren Chieftan. The gentle, yet fair leader refused to meet the Orc's eye. If it had been his way, he would not offer a single one of his kind. After all, he could see Tirion's reason and the accident as a whole; he was unbiased by burdening hatred. He slowly turned his great head towards him, old, wizened eyes looking straight past the orc to Thrall instead.

Thrall dipped his head briefly.

"Very well." he finally rumbled, shaking his head. Some beads that adorned the plaited mane clicked together softly with the action. Likewise; they turned towards the Blood Elf Reagent Lord Lor'themar not soon after.

The regal reagent's long, pointed ears twitched for a moment, and unlike Cairne, looked very much like he was about to deny the Hellscream son's 'request'. One of his blonde, elongated eyebrows moved too, as he masked his irritation at the situation. He threw a look behind him. He knew which champion the orc had his eyes on. One of his paladins.

The look he sent her was simply one of regret, and waved the approval.

Garrosh sneered, taking note of both leader's hesitation, but did not comment. "Perfect." He then folded his arms, holding his head high, the feel of pride coursed through him. Even though he was not Warchief, they listened to him, despite their enthusiasm. He spoke then, once more, his voice booming, threatening, and filling the entirety of the coliseum.

"Your weakling Alliance warlock wouldn't of stood a chance. Let's see how your honourless dogs pit against real masters of the occult and dead. Harkzog! Gorgrim Shadowcleave! Enter!"

The two orcs jumped from their stands down to the arena below. Harkzog, a warlock; was accompanied by his felhunter minion. His maddened grin was hidden behind the thick robed collar that he adorned, and clear blood thirst was dancing in his eyes. His pet encircled around him; lowering it's jaw to reveal rows upon rows of serrated teeth, stained red from the victims it had devoured.

It's feelers shook, and it picked up the scent of magic. Strong, strong magic. It growled in anticipation and awaiting pleasure, turning to Ambrose. The gnome blanched; scurrying back a little. Even Jacob felt it was safer to step in front of the beast's line of sight. Harkzog laughed at their seeming fear, tugging on the mental leash that he had with his minion. The felhunter remained it's aggressive growling, but stilled and did not scamper off.

Gorgrim scoffed; carelessly waving his hand. The ground they stood on rumbled briefly, before a ghoul fought it's way out of the earth and assembled itself respectively by it's masters side.

"Birana Stormhoof and Broln Stouthorn will accompany them." softly murmured Cairne. The druid and shaman descended; the former turning into her Moonkin form much like the night elf had done. Unlike Runok and Colosos, though, Broln was not one of the elements, but of enhancement. The wind elemental was his favour; it's fury bathed his faithful axes. He, neither Birana, spoke a word.

Neither of them wanted to. They were not as vengeful as their night elven counterparts, whom most likely had seen many sisters fall at the battle fields such as Warsong Gulch or Arathi Basin. Rather, they did not want to participate. They had no choice. It was the will of their Chieftan.

"Liandra Suncaller." the Regent Lord of the Blood Elves said quickly. He allowed a frown to form on his face, and before the Holy Paladin could jump down, he placed a hand to her pauldron. She looked to him, and they shared a moment of silence. Most likely, she wouldn't survive, if the Grand Champions were to be the ones that pass.

It was essentially suicide – wasted men and women that could have been put to better use. This very act here, the aggression, turning on one another, is something the Lich King himself would want to achieve. Lor'themar directed his glare at the floor, and muttered something incomprehensible. Liandra bowed her head, and joined her comrades at the arena floor.

Five champions of the Horde. Five champions of the Alliance. The large area had to be divided to fit the twenty on the floor below; but they managed it. Most likely stray bolts or bullets may accidentally interfere, but they accepted that consequence.

Thus, the Grand Champions moved into their respective parties.

Garrosh let loose a battle cry; filling the stadium. "Show them no mercy, Horde champions! LOK'TAR OGAR!"

It was only the Human King, Varian Wyrnn, that drowned him out. "Fight for the glory of the Alliance, heroes! Honor your king and your people!"

"Let the third trial commence!" declared Highlord Tirion Fordring.

No. Slowly standing up from her seat, the Ruler of Theramore, Jaina Proudmoore, collected her staff and snow cloak. Throwing the enchanted garment on, she gripped the familiar feel of her staff; the emerald jewel at the top shining so brightly in the afternoon's glow. A hard look set on her face. When Varian looked up to question what she was doing, he promptly shrunk back when she sent that look to him.

"I will not sit here and watch this mindless slaughter on what you claim is a defence of honour." she told him. He opened his mouth to retort, but she held up her hand, the look fashioning to a fiery glare. The hand shook with her pent up emotions, and with her index finger, she pointed accusingly at the Highlord.

"I can not comprehend why he would sit here and allow this.. this madness to go on. This is exactly – EXACLTY – what the Lich King wants. Men and women turning against each other. How will this help us, hm? How will loosing another warrior by our own hands be any sort of help against the siege?" she breathed. All that she had thought since the start of the trial was beginning to unravel before Varian, even as the match obliviously went on.

"We are practically doing the work for him!" she answered before the King could get a word in, slamming the end of the staff into the floor. "Slaughtering our own so he can come by and resurrect them as his soldiers!"

"Jaina.." the King tried, but she shook her head.

"I will not sit here and watch." she repeated, her calm, collective reserve slowly returning to her, now that she had a chance to verbally explode. Taking a deep breath, she expelled the air, which in the cold formed a crystallized mist. Slowly, her eyes softened. She stood by what she said, but stewing in her anger would not do herself well.

"I will return at the end of the match." Jaina finally settled on. "I'll go on a brief flight. I think the violence is getting to me. After all, I always hated resorting to such measures."

"As you've said." he supplied gingerly.

"I suspect it wont take long, but for the time being, I will see you soon." With a swish of her cloak and raising her staff; Jaina teleported out of the spectator's ring and out of the coliseum. Standing by the unoccupied vendor stalls, she stretched her entire person and fully frowned. She didn't doubt that the Grand Champions would prove to be better and stronger than the others. The other champions had signed their own death, on the basis of _honour._

Jaina scoffed, then shook her head to clear herself of such thoughts. There was no point dwelling on it, especially when she sought out to calm herself due to the events of the previous trials. Moving towards the stables, she pursed her lips.

Most of the Alliance owned beasts were sleeping and resting at this point, recovering from the flight from Dalaran to the Tournament grounds. One gryphon, however, remained awake, keeping a curious eye on the human that had just entered.

With a brief check, Jaina assessed that it was owned by the Argent Crusade, rather than an adventurer's. She suspected they wouldn't be as happy with her borrowing it otherwise. Moving to the creature, she leaned out her hand.

It sniffed at it, cawing softly before butting it's head against the outstretched palm of her hand. She moved from the beak to run her fingers through it's thick, luscious feathers. She cooed, murmuring encouraging and flattering words to it, which made it beam with pride.

"Can you spare me a favour?" she finally asked it. The Gryphon squawked, looking at her once more.

"Nothing big. I just want to get out of this stuffy place for a while. Just until the third trial ends. Do you think you can fly me?" Jaina continued to pet it, smiling gently. The noble creature assessed her itself, and when it deemed her worthy to ride it, as well as her cause justified for it to move from the stable without it's masters permission, nodded his head.

"Thank you." she said sincerely. "I think it'll do me good."

Grabbing some reins and a saddle, she equipped the lion-bird up. Gently taking it by the feathers, she lead it out to an inconspicuous open stretch of snow. She saddled herself on it, getting comfy before urging it forward. The powerful creature ran at first, picking up speed before spreading it's snowy white wings outward, letting loose a noise that was a mix of an eagle's screech and a lion's roar.

Taking off, the Gryphon soared into the air, raising up, but not too high. There, Jaina was able take control and began steering it.

Although Jaina could teleport anywhere she wanted – complications of the further the distance, the runes and time it'd need to concentrate the spell aside – she thought perhaps some flying would do better. Something that didn't require her to focus on spells and magic and she just couldn't stand to be in that coliseum any longer. She grimaced when she knew she would have to go back to it at some point.

As she became lost in her thoughts – something the sorceress did not want to do, she failed to pick up a shadow bolt that came flying straight towards her. It hit the gryphon directly, causing it to tumble in the sky and plummet.

Jaina gave a startled yelp, grabbing fistfuls of feathers and trying to urge it to fly, but the powerful dark magic had rendered the creature useless, especially after another came from the ground and ripped through the gryphon's wing.

The imbalance and action threw the mage off of the beast, and she found herself descending rapidly down below into Sindragosa's Fall.

* * *

_An: Welp. I did say I had original ideas of my own. I thought a change of scenery would do us (and Jaina) good. Poor girl never gets a break, does she? _


	8. Sindragosa's Fall - Lich King's Arrival

The sorceress always had a knack for casting instinctively.

As she began to plummet to the frozen, unforgiving ice below, she drew her staff and murmured something under her breath. With a gesture, she felt herself beginning to loose speed, and not long before she was gently floating down, like a feather in the still wind.

Her moment of peace was quickly destroyed as shadow bolts from the ground flew her way. She grit her teeth, summoning up an ice barrier as she descended. Eventually, her feet found solace on the snowy ground, and the spell of slowfall ended. Thick chunks of magical frost gathered around her like a protective bubble, ready to expand into a wall at her command.

Her eyes danced across the boneyard, before they fell upon her assailant, and she gave a silent gasp.

He was a human; but not anyone she would associate with.

Thick, dark robes adorned his person, donned in intricate design of purple. Openly the robes were enchanted, it's weave of spells displayed on the purple embroidery. Gloved hands clutched a staff in one, and a grimoire in the other, the book half opened to a page that, from Jaina's point of view, she could not quite make out.

His hood was drawn up; and nearly the entirety of his face covered by it and a silk black mask. The only thing visible was his sullen eyes, painted pastel white face and markings that littered upon it, although mostly hidden.

There was no mistaking it. This man belonged to the infamous Cult of the Damned. He was a necromancer. Unsure of his level or skill, Jaina was weary, fire exploding in the palm of her hand and dancing around her fingertips as she readied a fireball.

The necromancer faulted, sizing her up. Some look of recognition seemed to dawn on him. "Y-You're Jaina Proudmoore!" he blurted out, voice scratchy and otherwise unpleasant. He seemed hesitant to attack then, eyes darting from her to out in the vast wasteland of ice and bones.

The mage pursed her lips. She wouldn't question how he knew her name – most likely the Cult had spies. As unwilling as he wanted to continue the fight he started, he killed the Gryphon, and he had an intent to kill her too. That was enough to justify her actions. With a glance to what he kept looking to, she grimaced.

She could see clumps and ritual circles of the Cult members, chanting quickly and performing some dark art.

She turned back to her attacker. He flinched.

"Yes. I am."

She shot the fireball straight at him; and the spell hit. He stumbled back, wincing in pain as he was scorched and burned; soot lining his robes. He sent off a weak shadow bolt in retaliation, and trying to fix a curse upon her.

Jaina was faster, and her wits even more so. She directed one of the floating magical chunks of ice from her protective barrier and sent it hurtling towards the cult member. Before it hit him; it formed a lance and pierced through his chest. He gasped out; hands out stretched before falling limply. It was the quickest and least painful death that the mage could of gave him.

The woman did not spare the cultist another glance. She did not think she had the stomach for it. She waved off the lance; as it lost it's shape and became a mass of magic once more, before eventually dissipating. Her attention was redirected to the clumps that were performing rituals.

But for what?

Jaina grabbed the ends of her cloak and drew it around herself, completely covering up. She whispered the words of wisdom, and she slowly faded out of sight. Invisible, the woman carefully manoeuvred on the harder parts of the thick snow, to leave as little footprints as possible.

She was no elf, however. She couldn't leave no tracks.

It wouldn't matter anyway. By the look and sound of things, the cultists were completely engrossed in their work. She lingered for a second longer; awaiting for whatever evil they attempted to summon. She furrowed her eyebrows, however, beginning to listen into the maddening chants of their words.

"That's.. no summoning spell.." she whispered to herself. While some may consider it stupid – Jaina found that voicing her opinions and thoughts, even if there was no audience, helped her suss out and shelve the wandering ideas and thoughts she entertained. It helped the motions. Suddenly, she snapped her head up as it clicked what was happening.

"That's-!"

It was too late. The chant reached a crescendo, stopping at a surge of dark, necromantic power that resonated through the air.

The ice split; cracking, sending shards up and impaling the snowy ground. Jaina stumbled back, a part of her cloak getting nicked by the slither. Had she been a less powerful mage, her invisibility would of broken, but she quickly casted a new coat upon herself. Frozen bones dislodged themselves from their chilly prison, rearranging themselves in the shape of a dragon, as finally, the head of the once glorious, adult blue drake fit upon it.

The skull clicked, and the wyrm spread it's bony, sinew torn wings. Magic still existed in the old bones, still lived and gave it life and power. Jaina found herself morbidly curious, but thoroughly disgusted and appalled. It sucked in a breath, giving off a roar that would sound throughout the entirety of Northrend. Rebirth.

The Frost Wyrm took off; having already received it's orders from it's master. The mage, on the other hand, scrambled back, a touch of fear twinging in her heart. The Cult of the Damned are reanimating dead dragons. There seemed no end or limit to the Lich King's arsenal. She had to wonder though – how was the Cult so active? How were they able to perform these rituals in peace?

If Tirion knew about this, then she would be sure there would be at least ONE Argent Crusader patrolling the boneyard. Even if he no paladin to spare, he'd recruit adventurers to keep an eye on their activities.

Right?

Dismissing those thoughts for now, she had the task of returning to the Tournament grounds with the information in one piece. Part of her screamed to stay at Sindragosa's Fall and remove the cultist's presence from the graveyard, but they outnumbered her greatly. While she did not doubt her power to handle the situation herself, she already had enough on her plate to juggle and take action against. Tirion would wish to know about it, and even if she did purge the wasteland of them, he would merely scold her for her recklessness.

A frown fought to her face. 'Purge'. 'Recklessness.' Those words elicited a chilling shudder, and her lips trembled as finally, she allowed her mind to think of him.

Not of The Lich King, but of Arthas Menethil. The golden haired, warm bodied man of the Light. His contagious smiles, his uplifting laughter. She remembered how he used to hold her in his strong arms, like a protective fortress of support. As she padded away from the scene of the necromancers and seeking a much more secluded area to perform a teleprotation spell, she smiled sadly.

Her nostalgic remorse was because she too, also remembered his anger, his descent into darkness and what some may even claim madness. His suspension of Uther and his Paladins. The look of betrayal in his eyes when she had turned away.

Jaina still believes that it was the right thing to do.

She blinked suddenly then, raising a gloved hand to her cheek, noticing the small, already frozen tears that had been on her face. She shook her head, wiping away any evidence there had been and blinking a few times. A mere slip up. Jaina promised herself she would never cry over Arthas again.

She found success in a secluded area of the wasteland, the chants and varying voices distant to her ears. There, she spread her arms, arcane energy swirling around her hands and encircling her person. Circles of magic spun at her feet; and she cleared her mind and kept one image focused in clarity.

The Argent Tournament Grounds.

* * *

The uneasy feeling of being whisked from one place to another took a hold of her, but it wasn't long before she heard sounds of fighting, cheering, uplifting music and Jacob's ever present strategy calls. It was a welcome replacement over the dark repetition of before.

She allowed her cloak to billow behind her, hood falling back naturally as she ascended up the stairs and through to the spectators ring. She blinked from there, returning to her vacant seat besides the King of Stormwind. He seemed to not notice her presence yet, and she settled on lowering her staff, adjusting her cloak and fixing her hair, sparing a glance to the arena.

She wish she hadn't.

Two Val'kyr. Orbs of darkness and orbs of light. Empowered champions (in thought, Jaina was immensely relieved to see all ten of the Grand Champions alive.). It hurt to even stare at the match with the monochrome fluorescent colours that burst about; exploding and flaring, she briefly shielded her eyes.

"Do I even want to know where Tirion got ahold of two of the Lich King's lieutenants?" she offhandedly commented, groaning.

Varian jumped at the sound of her voice, quickly trying to act as if he hadn't by smoothing a gauntleted hand through his thick, auburn hair. "Well, you certainly took your time. I was beginning to worry about you." he said, turning to her and frowning largely. Clearly, he wasn't in a better mood.

"I was-"

He grabbed her cloak, ignoring her blatant protest as he thumbed through the material, finding the rip that had occurred back at the boneyard. Jaina had to give him some credit – he had extraordinarily keen eyes when it came to her health and protection. Those same eagle eyes glanced up to her face, waiting for an explanation.

"Oh, let go." she replied, batting his hands off of her cloak. "Really, Varian. I snagged it on my way out. Now will you kindly explain what is going on?" she gestured to the arena. The mage supposed that the King didn't need to know of her discoveries yet. When the Trials were over, she would inform Tirion.

Letting the issue go for now, the King sat back and nodded to them. "Well, you left at the third match, which came to a stalemate. The Grand Champions defeated the ones we called. Both sides." he scowled. "Tirion reprimanded us."

Jaina nodded slowly. "As I expected much. It was a waste of time."

He tactfully ignored her. "He then brought out the Twin Val'kyr as their final match. As you can see, you dropped by at the tail end."

The sorceress turned her head back down at the arena below; and with their conjoined efforts, Lana Stouthammer and Deathstalker Visceri dealt the finishing blow; simultaneously ending both Fjola Lightbane and Eydis Darkbane's lives.

It took a moment for the realisation that they had won to settle on their shoulders, as it had been an intense, death-flirting battle filled with trial and error and constant reminder to not pick up the orbs that were opposite colour. It wasn't that they just 'completed the trial', but they had bested the Trial of the Grand Crusader. They were no longer simply 'faction champions' now.

They were warriors of the Argent Crusade. Their finest.

Marshal Jacob Alerius staggered back, dropping his worn mace and shield almost in disbelief as he stared down at the winged harbingers. He had been sure that this would be the death of them. He was sure this would be the end of their streak of victories. He let out a chuckle of disbelief, before laughing openly with the crowd of spectators that cheered and sung their names.

He approached Mokra the Skullcrusher, resting his heavy hands on his pauldrons and grinning widely. The Orc knew. He grinned back.

"We did it." the human managed to finally get out. "We- we actually defeated them."

"You owe me ten gold." replied Mokra. "And my sword sharpened."

Letting his hands fall to his side, Jacob shook his head and thrust a hand into his pockets, rummaging around and dropping the golden coins into his open palm. After all, when the Orc first proposed the bet, the human was incredulous, but thought, if they were going to die anyway, he wouldn't have to pay up.

Somehow, loosing that bet didn't make him feel as awful as he thought it would be. He was just glad to be alive.

The other champions felt the same way. Lana patted herself on the back, smiling ear to ear as she cheered too with the spectators. Visceri looked less like he was damning everyone to death, and simply just a little moody.

Colosos and Runok bowed respectively to their factions, ever humble and ever feeling unwilling to receive the praise and songs. They were simply happy they could have been assistance, and their ingenious plan of being an opposite colour to the tank paid off; having soaked up the orbs so that they would not be harmed.

Eressea on the other hand, was trying to remain professional, calm and collected, when inwardly she was jumping for joy. She turned to Ambrose, the gnome likewise looking up to her. She spread her arms, awkwardly pausing, before settling on outstretching her hand for a shake. He laughed, but accepted and grasped it, shaking.

"Now I suppose I have two thesis to write.." he murmured; eyes twinkling. She smirked.

Tirion rose, giving his own applause as he nodded sombrely, which seemed to bring the good cheer down a notch.

"A mighty blow has been dealt to the Lich King! You have proven yourselves able bodied champions of the Argent Crusade. Together we will strike at Icecrown Citadel and destroy what remains of the Scourge! There is no challenge that we cannot face united!" he announced strongly, arms spread and confidence radiating off of him. Many saluted and showed their support through their appreciative noise.

Jaina found herself clapping along, smiling. However, she froze – she noticed something. In the air. In the magic. She whipped to Aegwynn. Her Chamberlain looked back, the same thought. It was as if time began to slow. For her, anyway. Everyone else, ignorant, oblivious, clapped on. She reached out and grasped Varian's arm. The King turned and looked at her questioningly.

"You will have your challenge, Fordring."

The voice didn't belong to her, Varian, or anyone present. Silence engulfed everyone. It was thick, drawn out and full of dead promises. But for Jaina, it only screamed dark familiarity.

A portal appeared, and The Lich King stepped out.

* * *

_AN: Ahah, a reviewer has brought to my attention a continuity slip up that I'd like to apologise profoundly. I had absolutely no idea that Aegwynn at this point was dead (preWOTLK) but I feel that, since she isn't a major character, it wont detract much from the story itself._

_Before anyone else points out, I'd like to note two more errors that I hope you can forgive._

_-Jaina saying 'Icecrown Citadel is too close' in Chapter 2 when in actual fact it's the furthest thing away. This will be changed._

_-Mokra and Jacob's weapons are totally wrong. Jacob has the sword. Mokra has the mace. But, no matter. Weapons can be switched._


	9. Anub'arak

Dread clung to the air like thick smog; a mist of ice, snow, and broken dreams permeated from the Lich King. Their celebrations, their happiness, joy, and merriment, dwindled and was snapped dead, like a rat in it's trap. His horrific blade was drawn, the tip of it perched to the ground. Thick gauntlets held it's handle.

His head was inclined upwards, glowing, unnatural eyes focused on the Highlord. Tirion, likewise, drew the Ashbringer, pointing the righteous and fabled sword in his direction. The two ultimate forces. One of the Light. One of the Scourge. Jaina Proudmoore's voice was caught in her throat, as she could only stare in disbelief. She mouthed a name, but no sound would form.

Uneasy confidence bubbled up within the old, haggard Paladin, wrinkles creasing as he spoke clearly. "Arthas! You are hopelessly outnumbered!" He gestured all around him. The Argent Crusade. The Leaders of the Horde and the Alliance, and their respective Grand Champions. The Adventurers and Heroes.

Himself.

"Lay down Frostmourne, and I will grant you a just death." he finished. It would be more and honourable than what the Lich King would do to them, indeed. A thick, rich rumble reverberated throughout the coliseum, low. He was laughing. He found amusement at his proclamation, at his audacity.

He spread his free hand, gesturing to the grand faction champions, his laughter still present. Jacob found himself flinching – it was clear that the 'King did not believe they could do anything against him, and the knight was more inclined to agree with that belief. Still, he knelt down, grasping his dropped hammer and shield, wielding them.

If needs be, he would protect his friends. They had grown to be somewhat of a family. Lana Stouthammer swallowed, but indeed readied her toxin-coated daggers, falling into a stance. She looked to the Marshal, he who had commands and strategy on the tips of his tongue, able to give orders and direct his team... and he found, that he had no order to give.

Jaelyne drew an arrow, but kept her bow slack. Her white, softly glowing eyes narrowed. There was not a single chink in his black, frozen armour. Nowhere to hit. Zul'tore had the same problem, the troll lowering his crossbow as it would be futile.

The laughter ceased. They tensed -

"The Nerubians built an empire beneath the frozen wastes of Northrend." the Lich King began, amusement present in his tone as it darkened. "An empire that you so foolishly built your structures upon."

All joy drained from his person, now. He raised Frostmourne, and Tirion readied his blade too. If needs be, he was prepared to jump down and fight Arthas. "MY EMPIRE!" he announced loudly, as his cursed, soul-stealing blade's tip was pointed to the heavens.

It clicked with the mages quicker than anyone else first.

"He's going to-!" Jaina tried, but alas, it was too late.

Arthas thrust Frostmourne down into the ground, and to which it was already beaten, broken, and damaged from the trials before hand, the action split it; cracks originating from the blade's plunge and spreading like wildfire all around the arena's entirety. It rumbled, split, before destroying entirely. The champions found themselves plummeting straight into the Icy Depths below, startled yelps and cries of fear in their wake.

"The souls of your fallen champions will be mine, Fordring." was the last thing they heard, the yelling of the old Paladin and some of their leaders deaf to them in the frozen underground. Smacking away a piece of debris with his shield, Jacob feverishly threw glances around. "Boltspark!" he called. "Slowfall!"

One by one, they found their descent a little more pleasant than previously thought, as Jacob almost smashed into the ground, the gnome's spell reached him, and he only gently rested upon it. He suddenly gave a groan of pain as part of the floor from the arena smashed straight into his back. Luckily, his spine was intact, but it'd certainly leave a bruise.

He grasped Mokra's outstretched hand, and the Orc hauled him up to his feet. He winced, giving a ginger nod of appreciation towards Colosos as he felt the wave of healing magic flow through him not shortly after.

_Click.. click... clack.. isshh..._

"Uhm, Marshal Alerius..?"

"What is it, Stouthammer?"

"Behind you."

Slowly the Marshal turned, to join the party to what exactly was making that noise. He almost dropped his weapons at the sheer size of.. whatever it was. To a common eye, it looked like an oversized bug, imbued with frost on it's carapace. But no. It would be foolish to think such things. It was a Nerubian – a Crypt Lord.

"Ahhh... Our guests arrived, just as the master promised..." it hissed out harshly, and the human thought that it would be incapable of speech. That, of course, was a view proving to be small-minded. It was a very well-spoken bug. He glanced around the icy chamber.

He noticed small frozen orbs that danced about at the top; too far for any of them to reach by hand.. but perhaps by arrow? He shot a look over to Jaelyne, the night elf huntress returning it. They didn't know the purpose of them, but it might help.

Anub'arak, who had been contently half-laying, with some of his legs curled up; shook himself free of the snow that formed on him, drawing the legs out from underneath him and standing up. His carapace opened, his wings flaring out and buzzing airily. It closed just as quick as it opened, and Jacob realised, he was getting ready to attack them.

"Mokra, with me!" Readying his shield, the two of them charged forward. They met the Nerubian's natural blades with their defensive shields, proceeding to hack and slash like no tomorrow. Something rumbled beneath them, and out popped a smaller, spider-like creature. It latched onto Jacob, much to his protect and physically tore off a chuck of his armour; exposing the thin chainmail under it.

He cried out in alarm, trying to swipe the cretin, but it burrowed underground. At the sound of disgust by his side, it appeared as though Mokra had the same treatment.

They had to deal with them – stop them burrowing. He glanced up the ceiling again. It was a stretch..

"Jaelyne! Shoot 'em down!"

Obliging, the huntress shot three arrows to three different orbs. They fell from their suspension of the air, smashing on the ground like glass and immediately freezing the ground – permanently. What he found, was that the nerubian's burrowing couldn't pop up at that specific area, they had to go around the permafrost and appear on untainted ground.

"Mokra-"

"Save your breath, Jacob. I've got it." the Orc grinned, turning and leaping. With impressive strength, he caught the burrower just as it popped up, crashing into the permafrost and crushing it against it. The bug skittered and chattered madly, trying desperately to burrow, but it's little claws made only scratches on the ice.

With a thrust of his sword, it laid dead, and he kicked the corpse off of it.

Anub'arak chittered, hissing furiously as he tried to overpower the human with his bulk and strength. "This place will serve as your tomb!" he declared, smacking Jacob's mace away from his face as he reared up. The human pulled back, throwing his entire weight to the side to avoid the smash. He sneered.

They repeated this for two minutes, Mokra taking control of the burrowers, Jacob handling the Traitor King, and Jaelyne shooting down the permafrost orbs. The rest of them were hailing their attacks against the crypt lord himself.

"Auum na-l ak-k-k-k, isshhh. Rise, minions. Devour..." It confused the party for a moment, but with his massive legs and claws, the Nerubian himself, buried into the ground. There was no trace of him at all. Jacob blinked, lowering his shield carefully as his eyes darted left to right.

Scarabs.

Many, many scarabs.

"Mages.." he needn't waste his breath. As the swarm of scarabs descended upon them, Eressea and Ambrose jointly conjured up their attacks. The gnomish mage decided to use a blizzard spell, the hailing of ice shards raided down upon the scarabs, while Eressea was content to plant a living bomb on one, exploding and scorching the others around it.

Spikes erected from the ground, thick, deadly, serrated spikes. What was worse, was that they were moving, heading straight towards the night elf huntress as alarming speeds. Jacob called her name out, and she looked at them. Before they even came into touch, or reach, she let out a blood curdling scream, twisting and falling dead to the floor.

The spikes promptly switched targets, now focused on Lana.

"The back O' me hand to yer growlin' mouth ye fork faced weedy gobshyte- YE DID THAT ON PURPOSE!" she howled, Jaelyne simply picking herself up and gave an amused look to the rogue. She figured that Anub'arak did not have the most perfect sight on the surface whilst he was burrowed, and thus her feign-death had been executed flawlessly. Promptly, she shot another frozen orb, and the permafrost stood in the spike's path.

The ground rumbled, like a thump, as the spikes tried to impale Lana, but found it could not whilst the permafrost was there. Although the ice was shattered, the dwarf was wholly intact.

After many insults were thrown about, close calls, and scarab elimination, the Nerubian finally re-emerged, rage set upon Jacob.

This continued for some time, alternating between the Tratior King on the surface and submerged. Until finally, with much strength and willpower, Jacob smashed a part of his carapace clean off. It was thought to be the end, a queer grin raising to his lips, but no.

It only served to anger Anub'arak.

"The swarm.. shall overtake you!" He snarled out; and opened the encased chitin and carapace; thin, delicate wings spreading and buzzing rapidly. Millions upon millions of little insects emitted from him; spinning around in a deadly swarm as it captured the entire room.

The leeching swarm nipped at them, bug bites, but poisonous and vampiric, draining their life one little nip at a time; and returning to the Nerubian to restore his lost life. They had to kill him, and kill him fast.

Strongest spells, most powerful attacks, longest concentrated shots, they felt themselves becoming weak, weary from the swarm. Jacob staggered, almost falling to one knee as he blindly smacked away the locusts with his shield while maintaining his attack against Anub'arak.

In one solid blow, however, the pyroblasts, arcane explosions, aimed shots, heroic strikes and eviscerates, all landed; and once king of the Nerubians fell, lamenting on his death and his failure. The locusts died away and dissipated along with their master, and the ice that encased them in the depths below shattered with his racking wail.

* * *

Immediately Jaina teleported in, along with the Highlord Tirion Fordring. She expelled the barrier that trapped them around the arena shaped area, with assistance of some of the Crusade's mages. She rushed to them, as well as medics to help.

"Champions, you're alive! Not only have you defeated every challenge of the Trial of the Crusader, but thwarted Arthas directly! Your skill and cunning will prove to be a powerful weapon against the Scourge. Well done! Allow Jaina to transport you back to the surface!" congratulated the Highlord, and he finally gave a thin smile.

The aforementioned sorceress gathered the group around her, arcane and magic enveloping her hands as she did indeed, transport them to the surface – the medical tent, in fact. Slipping out and shaking her head as she noticed the human warrior all but flopped onto the tent, exclaiming something about solid ground and a bed and something not involving fighting, she made a trek to Tirion's tent.

Now, more than ever, she needed to reveal what she learnt at Sindragosa's Fall.

She pushed back the flaps, entering as it was a bustle of activity. Tirion spoke lowly to his Paladins, as they now had their ten champions, their elite force. Already he was directing orders to be sent to the likes of the Ebon Blade, the Ashen Verdict. He paused, only as she entered. He leaned a little closer to his Paladin, whispering something she couldn't make out before sending the man on his way.

"Lady Proudmoore." he nodded to her. "I have to say I must apologise to you. I believe that you may of caught wind of Arthas' unexpected arrival long before any of us suspected something like this would occur."

Jaina paused, and it dawned on her, slowly nodding. "Yes.. something wasn't quite right. It was as if he was watching the trials, too. He must of been, to of appeared at the time he did." she frowned. "That aside, there is something you must know."

Not wanting to doubt her word a second time, Tirion fell silent and allowed the mage to speak freely.

"During the third match I left because I could not bare to watch it." she started. "I acquired a gryphon, and begun to flew aimlessly. I was shot down over Sindragosa's Fall."

Concern rose to his eyes first, and he stepped forward. She raised a hand, stopping him as she continued. "My assailant was of the Cultist of the Damned. Even after Kel'Thuzard's timely demise, they are still active as ever, and to my knowledge, still recieveing orders. They are reanimating dead blue dragons into Frost Wyrms."

This news troubled Fordring, and he slowly shook his head in disbelief.

"I sent a troupe of Paladins to scout that area once before, it was lifeless." he frowned.

"Regardless." the mage pointed out. "The Lich King is bolstering his army. Because of this, I have decided to ask the Alliance champions to accompany me to the Frozen Halls."

She felt his critical, judgemental eyes. Tensing up, she prepared to defend herself, and give arguements to her cause. However, she found that it was a waste of time - Tirion resigned, sighing lowly and nodding lightly.

"Alright, Jaina. There is nothing I could say that would stop you, is there?"

She smiled sadly. "No. I'll wait until they've rested and recovered. Then, I shall go ask."


	10. Sylvanas

The Highlord's surprisingly quick resignation against holding her back was puzzling at first. Although she was not a child, and he respected her as he would any other member of the Alliance, Jaina would assumed she would meet some resistance. Perhaps the years of dealing with many others like her had wore the man down, or maybe he truly believed she was completely capable of handling this venture.

That was not to say she doubted her own ability. She wasn't quite sure what to expect to find in the Frozen Halls – Arthas, maybe, perhaps a chance of communicating to him. Surely, if her belief was to be correct, the Paladin would not be so easy upon letting her loose. The mage quickly found herself stumped by her own line of thought – why was she complaining? This was exactly what she wanted.

She had to admit, butting heads against Varian with issues like this had made her expectations of how the other strong-willed warrior men would view her. It all came down to assuming and preconceived opinions. She was ashamed she tarred Tirion Fordring with that same brush, even if, for the better part of the days, she had become to doubt some of his decisions.

With a respectful nod, she exited his tent, making a quick trek to the medical one. She picked up Aegwynn along the way, the hardened stare of her chamberlain boring into the back of her head as a constant reminder that the old magus was displeased. She waved her off her attitude, most likely the woman would harp on about her health and safety when she had left during the third match.

She pushed back the flaps of the medical tent, entering the much smaller enclosed space as the Grand Champions were being tended to. They chattered quite heatedly, and Jaina found herself catching the tail end of it.

"..and that's when I decided, I should probably enquire about early retirement." grumbled the human warrior; naked from the waist up as a priestess gently peeled off his blood-soaked shirt. Various cuts and bruises adorned his chiselled chest and back, and a particularly nasty purple-black one, the size of Mokra's fist and then some, spread and encompassing part of his spine.

The priestess pressed her hands to it; Jacob letting a soft hiss escape as her hands glowed a warming gold; bathing his back with the mending Light. Beside him, being tended by a shaman, Mokra laughed heartily, whilst his hand was being fixed. It turned out that, Nerubians didn't have the most softest of skulls, and his mighty leap and punch had effectively broken his hand, near shattered the bones. It didn't bother the Orc then, and it certainly didn't now.

"Of course. Here, I was thinking you was pretty tough for a pink-skinned squishy human. Early retirement!" the orc grinned, slapping Jacob's back with his free hand, eliciting a sharp yelp from him. This only caused the Horde Warrior to burst into a snigger.

"Ach, I dunno lad. Methinks that was just the beginnin', now that we're no longer faction champions. We're members of the Crusade, now." murmured Lana after much thought. She didn't need much medical aid, but had stripped to her linen shirt and thin leggings to allow the healers to give a check up. Her daggers were nowhere to be seen. Still, she shot a dirty look in Jaelyne's direction.

The aforementioned huntress turned her nose up at the look, and she finally spoke in her rich Common. "Oh, let it go, Miss Stouthammer. Feigning my death was the only way I could continue to shoot down the orbs-"

"Zully coulda don' it!" The troll blinked up at being addressed, peering about suspiciously. He usually didn't socialise, so given the friendly nickname made him feel a little uneasy, but wholly accepted into their niche party of ten. He smiled toothily, but did not reply.

"-On the contrary, Miss Stouthammer. Our commander assigned me to the position." replied Jaelyne as it was the most obvious thing in the world, rolling her shoulders and unable to hold the smirk that spread across her lips – the death of her pet had hit her hard, but in the company of her friends – like a family really, Horde included – she had learnt to cope.

"I swear, I'll ring yer pretty lil' neck." the dwarven rogue grumbled, batting the priest away from her as she begun to pull her leather armour back on.

"I do hope I'm not interrupting..?" Jaina began, smiling at the troupe. They paused, and looked to her. Jacob made an effort to correct his slouched position, giving the best amount of respect he could to a woman being half-naked, battered, bruise, and utterly tired. She waved off his formality, and he was grateful for it.

"Of course not, Lady Proudmoore. It's an honour that you speak with us." he replied curtly, keeping note of whom she was. "Is there anything we can assist you with?"

He repressed the urge to groan when she bobbed her head. Still, his comrades were curious, and it would be rude beyond belief to send her on her way, rather than hear her out. He remained silent, allowing Jaina to speak.

"Actually, Marshal, there is. I will begin to venture forth into the Frozen Halls, soon. I will require the presence of brave heroes on this task." Her eyes beamed with pride for them. For all of them. To her, they were not simply 'fighters'. They had shown true tact, skill, and comradeship. That, she could appreciate.

Aegwynn beside her scoffed. Ah yes. Jaina had almost forgot about her. The older women eyed Jaina critically with drawn down, craggy eyebrows, and a thin-lipped frown. Her disapproval was back full force. Opting to finally look at the Chamberlain, the old Magna finally spoke.

"Personally, I think it's a stupid idea that you would be willing to risk your own life and the ones of these 'brave heroes'. I believe it'll be wholly futile and unforgiving to your reasoning to go there."

"Thank you for your ever supportive input, Aegwynn." bristled the younger mage, before returning to look at the champions.

"Well.." Jacob began hesitantly, looking between himself, his party, and the sorceresses. "Now?" he asked, glancing down at his still healing self. He didn't think he could quite handle going on dangerous expeditions at the moment.

"Of course not _now._" she rolled her eyes. "When you are fit."

"Proud- _Lady _Proudmoore." Mokra corrected himself, eyeing the mage with some thought, but his jovial tone having long since vanished upon her announcement. He was careful with his wording, which was strange, coming from an Orc. The only one Jaina knew to be cautious of what was said was Thrall.

"'fraid myself nor my team will be able to.. help you on this trip of yours. Our hands are already tied up, thanks to the Dark Lady."

"Dark Lady?" echoed the human, bewilderment overtaking her, before recognition and a slight noise of nostalgia. "Sylvanas." she murmured; and Mokra nodded a little balefully. The shaman stepped away from the warrior now that he had finished, and he flexed his good-as-new hand, stretching his arms and an audible pop sounded through.

"Mmhm. Coincidently, she spoke with us just before you did. We've been roped into going to the Frozen Halls, too." he grumbled, and then lowly, added _'and we don't have a choice'. _

Endangerment flashed in Jaina's uncanny blue eyes, and she grimaced. Most likely, Sylvanas would want to enter the Halls in hopes of catching Arthas, and thus, enacting her revenge. It would utterly ruin her plans of possibly finding out if the once-prince could be saved. Chewing on her lip thoughtfully, she glanced back to Jacob, before to the green-skinned orc.

"Perhaps I will have a word with The Dark Lady. A joint expedition has more chances of success than a singular one, after all." she finally stated, but was momentarily taken back as Jacob shook his head furiously.

"With all due respect." he started, through gritted teeth. "It is one thing working with members of the Horde. It's another thing entirely working alongside _The Banshee Queen. _The only thing worse would be forced to put up with Garrosh."

Mokra shot him a look. "I suppose I could say the same about your weak Human King. We both saw the way he reacted when we took down his oh so esteemed champions. Like lambs to the slaughter." he chuckled.

Before a racial argument could break out between the rocky relationship of the two prejudiced men, Jaina slammed the end of her staff into the ground, grabbing their attention. She frowned at them both.

"I am not forcing you come with me, Marshal." she pointed out. "I merely asked. But if it will cause you so much of a hassle, then forget it. Meanwhile, I will seek out Lady Sylvanas."

She abruptly ended the conversation there as she turned to leave; cloak billowing behind her as she stormed out of the medical tent. However, one does not simply 'seek out' the Dark Lady, and she was beginning to regret saying that. If Sylvanas did not wish to be seen, then that was exactly what would happen. Not even spreading her magic's seeking abilities across the entirety of the tournament grounds could she find the Forsaken Queen.

"I suppose I'll return to Theramore, then. Someone will have to look after it." Aegwynn piped up, ending her magic vision. Turning to the chamberlain, the woman merely gave a hidden smile. "After all, you're going to be out chasing kings and frozen hallways."

"That's not quite-"

"Mmhm. I don't suppose you could create a portal for an old lady such as myself?"

"You're being extraordinary difficult and lazy." Which usually meant that Aegwynn knew something that Jaina didn't, and was simply not wanting to be apart of it. A prick of annoyance surfaced, but she squashed it down as she waved her off. "Alright, alright. A moment."

Taking up an arcane rune, it dissolved in her grasp as she drew it's energy and power and begun weaving the enchantments for the portal. She had one location in mind – Theramore. Circles of arcane language spun at her feet, and she extended her hand and opened the portal.

"Much obliged." Aegwynn grinned, patting Jaina's shoulder. "Do come back safe. I'd hate to discover something bad happening to you."

"Then why don't you stay, or come with me?" she asked.

The ex-Guardian shook her head, offering a wry grin. "I doubt I could be much help to you, Jaina. Like I said, Theramore needs to be taken care of while you're gone. I don't trust the Stormwind Nobles to wait til you return to try their grabbing claims. I do mean it, though. Stay safe."

"I will." The sorceress smiled, wrapping her arms around the older woman in a hug, giving a small squeeze. Not really one for physical gestures, she once more patted her shoulder. They said their goodbyes, and Aegwynn left, and the portal closed behind her.

"An interesting display, Lady Proudmoore. Regardless, I hear that you was looking for me."

She jumped; swivelling around to face the owner of the voice. The Forsaken High Elf's orange eyes were set upon the human, utilizing her height to make it appear as if she was looking down upon the inferior one. Dulled platinum hair framed her face, giving an appearance of exotic beauty, despite her undeath.

Her cloak was drawn half over her shoulder, her always prominent bow and arrow shouldered and rested against her back. A smirk rested on her lips, but to what bemused her was remained hidden. Lifeless feathers stuck out from her shoulderguards, a remnant of the past. Her skin was icy, unnatural blue, yet smooth and exquisite.

"Lady Sylvanas." Jaina addressed carefully, dipping her head respectfully all the same. The once Ranger-General's cruel smirk merely spread.

"What do you hope to accomplish venturing to Icecrown Citadel, hm? If it is to deny me-" the Dark Lady begun, but the human was quick to shake her head and squash those kinds of thoughts.

"No, no, nothing of the sort. I have a few theories I wish to test. I couldn't stop your need for revenge even if I tried." The sorceress did not know the complete story to Sylvanas, but one thing was clear – she hated Arthas.

And she wanted to kill him.

Naturally, that should of made them allies against a common threat, and for the most part, the Horde and Alliance was. It was just a matter of Jaina's own feelings, and she was unsure if the Banshee Queen would allow her to test her beliefs and theories before letting loose her blackened arrows.

"You are not as foolish as I thought, then." Sylvanas stated. Jaina took that as a compliment. "Very well. I already overheard your silly little plans. I will allow you to try, just so that you know first-hand his mercilessness, and the futility of your line of thinking. It will not interfere with my own goals."

The woman bristled, opening her mouth to retort, but found herself silenced when the Forsaken Queen shook her head; chuckling humourlessly.

"I know that vile bastard more than you can imagine, dear Jaina." she told her. "He cannot be saved, nor do I believe he would want to be. He chose this path, after all. You will not take my word for it, so you must learn." She sniffed.

"Meet me at the northwest side of the Citadel, on the upper parapet. I will not wait for you, so make haste."

And just like that, with a blink – Dark Lady Sylvanas Windrunner was gone.


	11. HoR - Discovering Frostmourne

It was not the Argent Crusade that gave Jaina her flight, for she did not want to approach them with the knowledge of where one of their beasts remain. Luckily, she had to merely ask the Silver Covenant for one of their hippogryphs, and they were more than happy to oblige her request. The difference between the two beasts was their intelligence, the mage thought. The hippogryph were far more sentient, able to express emotions, and even hesitance of mind which went beyond common sense and instinct.

The stag-bird had regarded her carefully as she approached, as if sizing her existence up and whether or not she was worthy to be it's rider. She felt the whole process unnerving, and when it curled it's foreleg and bowed it's head, she found that it deemed her good enough. She didn't quite know how to take the approval of the bird, beasts were not her speciality.

The hippogryph allowed her on it's saddle, and she acquainted herself with the feel. Her hands sunk into it's sleek white feathers, the shining armour of the Covenant proudly decorated on the flying beast. It reared up, and Jaina hung on as it took off in a gallop, picking up enough speed to spread it's magnificent wings, catching the next updraft to take off.

She directed it south-west, and it was as if the bird already knew just where Jaina was going. It squawked, sounding oddly enough like questioning her motives.

"I know what I am doing." she told it adamantly. Her determination alone made the hippogryph fly faster; it's snowy colouring an easy camouflage in the bleak skies. After all, many who knew the sorceress could say that as soon as her mind was set on something, they would be hard-pressed to change it. Men such as Varian could attest to that.

It flew against the icy winds with bestial vigour, streaking across the skies like a white missile, tucking in it's wings and diving, only to spread and gain speed. Jaina clung on, her hair and cloak billowing madly against the momentum, and she had to partly close her eyes to protect them.

Jaina curiously glanced downwards; taking note of the activity on the frozen grounds. Skeletal soldiers, necromancers and skeletal mages littered about the vast stretch of the wasteland. They passed overhead to the much "warmer" ymirjar village of Ymirhelm.

Ymirjar was yet another caste of warriors that the Lich King possessed. Victorious fighters, ascendant of Vykruls victors. Many of them had adapted to the 'crown; their skin blue and icicles donned in their beards or hair. As one that never liked violence, and despite her open-mindedness of other's cultures, Jaina did not like them much.

She leaned forward, whispering to the hippogryph to be careful as she did not want the beast to be shot down and killed. The stag-bird merely gave a snort at her nonsense. It, a proud beast of the Silver Covenant, being shot down carrying an important passenger? Heresy.

Her vision of the village bled into the horrific sight of Corp'Rethar, The Horror Gate. It was the Scourge's final line of defence, barricading them from entering and opposing Icecrown Citadel. Naturally, the Argent Crusade and the Ebon Blade made quick work against it, and they now have access to the Citadel – at least, to it's Northwest section, the always mentioned Frozen Halls.

The young mage risked a glance back down again. Even now, from geists to massive flesh constructs of terror; roamed and lingered at the broken gate, without purpose, abandoned now that their mission had failed.

She tried not to think too hard on that, lest she start to feel sorry for _them._

The beautifully erected banners of the Argent Crusade signalled to her that she had arrived; and she watched as adventurers of the Horde and the Alliance lingered around – as the area had been designated as a sanctuary. The Light only knows what would happen should the two factions resume their war right at the Citadel's doorstep.

With a swift jerk, she directed the bird to land on an open space, and land they did. The hippogryphs hooves and talons clasped onto the metal of the walkways, clopping and scraping as it slowed down to a trot – and then to a complete stop. Folding it's wings, it allowed Jaina to slide off.

"Impeccable timing as always, Lady Proudmoore."

She jumped – and scowled at her own folly. Turning around, the mage faced Sylvanas once more. The Dark Lady had a simple smirk on her face; bow drawn, yet laying slack against her side. Her orange eyes glittered with malicious possibilities, and Jaina found herself unwilling to want to look at the Queen. The former-ranger general eyed her – sized her up, before nodding slightly.

"I wouldn't want to disappoint you, or make you wait, Lady Sylvanas." the younger replied smoothly; ever the diplomat, and cast a spell of arcane brilliance upon the party. She noted Mokra and his team begrudgingly waiting there. Most likely, the Dark Queen had cracked the whip on their recovery time, and dragged them along. In a way, Jaina pitied them, but found her scowl unable to diminished. She had hoped that Jacob would follow through and join her, but he didn't look like he'd be turning up any time soon.

"A wise choice." she in turn said. "Come. The Halls of Reflection wait. A gnome has informed me that Arthas keeps his cursed blade inside there – unprotected!" she barked a laugh. "I wouldn't be surprised if he was so foolish."

Jaina numbly nodded, not really paying much attention to the Banshee Queen. Being so close to the Citadel, to actually stand by it, Arthas in another sense, is so close... She bit her lip. If there was any feeling that dominated her right now, it was dread. Perhaps even.. a touch of fear. However, she shoved down her terror. The hope she had going in, overtaken and slew the dread. Hope. She had high hopes. Shining, blinding – like the Light itself.

Sylvanas, Jaina, and the Champions of the Horde, stepped into the Frozen Halls, and Jaina found that the Hope she felt dwindled for no explained reason. It was like a shadowy hand was yanking it back – a force she couldn't control. Heaving a shuddering sigh, she marched onwards.

"Lady Proudmoore!"

She halted.

The Horde and the Queen did so as well, and Jaina turned to face the noise. However, a smile split into her face as it was not someone like Varian to try and stop her, no..

Marshal- no, Commander Jacob Alerius, and the Champions of the Alliance, jogged, catching up. He stopped just short of her, saluting her with the utmost respect and honour he could give – now fully donned in armour of silver and white, of golden trim, courtesy of the Argent Crusade.

"I apologise for the delay, but the Highlord insisted we check out the armoury." he explained, and then bowed grandly. "Commander Alerius, at your disposal, ma'am."

Mokra chuckled lightly, and Jaina too, took note of his change. Of course, he had decidedly kept his title of the Skullcrusher, simply because he thought the title of Commander was too stuffy and human for the likes of him. Sylvanas merely gave an indignant sniff.

"Touching. Let us proceed." She turned on her heel, and continued on. They trailed on after her.

* * *

The Halls of Reflection.

The moment Jaina set foot into the eerily empty hallway, she found that the temperature seemed to of dropped. She shuddered, before her teeth began to chatter – and she could of sworn that snow was beginning to form on her. With numb fingers, she murmured a brief enchantment and enveloped herself in a fiery shield.

The fire provided no warmth.

"The chill of this place.." she commented, as the unfortunate _living _members of their party were cold (and that was an understatement), Jaina was sure if left unchecked, to death. "..I-I can feel my blood freezing."

Sylvanas unexpectedly stopped, her eyes widening as she stared on ahead. The mage cast her a glance, brows furrowing at her stop, but when following her gaze, she too, paused in disbelief. Her mouth opened, and she struggled to form the words. In the centre; floating mere inches above it's podium, was a blade. A wickedly serrated, long black blade, with a metal engraving of a ram's head adorning it's hilt. An unearthly blue glow surrounded Frostmourne.

"I..I don't believe it!" the dark queen exclaimed. "Frostmourne is left unguarded... Just as the gnome claimed.."

_Unguarded. _Jaina doubted that. Arthas may have had his moments of foolery, but he was no idiot. Surely, there must be some kind of trap, waiting for it's prey so that it may trigger. As Sylvanas made an effort to run towards it, the Horde champions unsure, the human raised a hand and signalled Jacob to be weary.

"I'd advise standing back." she told them. "A single touch of that horrible blade will scar your soul for eternity. Please – gather around but keep your distance. The Dark Lady and I will investigate. Perhaps she will allow me to attempt to commune with the spirits that reside in Frostmourne.."

"What good will that do you?" Sylvanas asked as Jaina approached by her side. As per ordered, The champions of both sides kept their distance, but spread themselves around in the circular room. Should anything pop out or spring, they would deal with it. A thoughtful look overtook the former ranger-general, contemplating what the Mage had said.

"You believe our salvation lies within.. yes.. I too. With both of our powers, we can commune with the blade." she said, moving aside to allow Jaina room. With them either side of the blade; they began to pour their power and energy into the blade before them.

It had unexpected results.

Wailing of old and new screeched throughout the Halls, echoing and damning the living. Scarred souls circled around them madly; like a leaf caught in a storm. Power reverberated throughout the room – power that neither of them could comprehend. Some of the champions gave a startling yelp – it felt as if something was tugging at them, gripping desperately and needling.

Lost, wrongfully taken spirits escaped from Frostmourne, but still bound to the blade, they spun ahead, roaring and screaming and raging around; the blade raising higher, unforgiving. It tested the two; forced them to pour their very soul into their spell.

Beads of cold sweat broke out on Jaina's forehead as she continued to channel the spell; flecks of her eyes illuminating as the excess of arcane energy built up. Both her and Sylvanas' spell hit a crescendo when a single entity, a spirit, was brought before them, a coherent and comprehensible one.

"Uther..?" Jaina whispered; and it was as if her entire world suddenly stopped.

The Paladin's spirit looked over to her; pain and sorrow permanently etched onto his features as his lips quivered upon the sight of her; incapable of crying or expressing any sort of emotion except the one he died with – guilt, regret, betrayal, sorrow, anger... "Jaina..? Could it really be you?" he murmured; his voice but a fraction of his former glory.

"Uther!" She repeated, almost a wail herself. "Dear Uther! I-I'm so.. so sorry.."

Sylvanas on the other hand, allowed a neutral expression to take control of her face. "Yes.. this blade could save us..-"

Uther snapped his head to her before she could finish, his voice a pained hitch. "Careful, girl! I've heard talk of how this cursed blade saving us before.. Look around you and see what has been borne of Frostmourne!"

"The Lightbringer, how can-?"

"You both haven't much time!" he once more cut in, rushed, hurried, and panicked. "The Lich King sees what the Blade sees! He will be here _shortly!"_

"Arthas?" Jaina near hiccuped. "Arthas is here-?" Her head swam, not because of the toll of casting such a powerful and unknown spell, but of the millions of thoughts coursing through her mind like a stampede of a million ants. Her eyes darted everywhere, her emotions like a roller coaster at the information, and the spirit shook his head firmly.

Sylvanas on the other hand, grinned viciously. "Good! I can complete my destiny of this very day! I will slaughter the Lich King!"

"No, Jaina.. _Arthas _is not here. Arthas is merely a presence in the Lich King's mind. A dwindling presence..." The spirit looked to Sylvanas. "He cannot be defeated. Not here. You would be a fool to try, Sylvanas. He will kill all that would follow you, and raise them as powerful Scourge soldiers. For you, he would make it far worse than the last."

"Uther.. But, dear Uther, if there's any hope of reaching Arthas, I.. I must try." Jaina murmured, nearly a whisper. Her mind kept retreating back to that fateful day of Stratholme. The look on the young prince's face when she turned away. The look only for her, and her alone.

"You must destroy the Lich King at the top of the spire where he merged with Ner'zul!" He told them both. "At the Frozen Throne. It is the only way! Just remember, Sylvanas, Jaina, that there must always be a Lich King. For without his control, the Scourge would wash over this world like locusts, destroying everything in their path!"

Jaina fell silent. The champions, too, were shook to their core with this information. After all, they would be the ones fighting against such a King. The human mage's previous emotions of frantic sorrow and horrendous guilt washed away, her logic and understanding slowly taking a hold of her once more. Her eyes fell from Uther.

Perhaps the only thing that kept the Scourge from running rampant was Arthas' presence. Her hope soared once more, like a released bird. The young prince, despite the dark path he walked, still retained who he was. Hope. The bright, warmth of it seemed to even overtake the chill of the Frozen Halls.

"Maybe.. there is still hope." She said. Uther's face fell.

"NO! Jaina! You- AARGGH!" a scream ripped from his throat, replacing whatever words he would of uttered. It startled both her, and Sylvanas. The great doors in front of them opened.

"Silence, Paladin!"

The Lich King stretched his hand out; open palmed, before enclosing his hand into a fist, banishing Uther's spirit once more. The paladin gave a lasting cry before he vanished from sight. Sylvanas readied her bow. Jaina readied her magic. The Champions prepared. With slow, heavy, and foreboding steps, the black armoured King stepped to his blade.

"So, you wish to commune with the dead? You will have your wish." he rasped out. His gauntleted hand reached up, grasping the hilt of Frostmourne and pulling it out of it's state of limbo, slicing through the still air; runes glowing blindly on the sword. Silvery hair peeked out from around his helm, which made Jaina remind herself that this was Arthas, once prince of a kingdom, and once, her lover.

"Falric. Marwyn. Bring their corpses to my chamber when you are through." he said almost carelessly; flicking his hand as the angry spirits that roamed the halls began to materialize physically. They were two warriors, summoned by their King's command, and they bowed respectively, even as the Lich King turned and began to move back into the inner chamber; shredded cloak fluttering behind him.

"You will NOT escape me that easily, ARTHAS! I will have my vengeance!" Sylvanas screamed after him, jumping over the podium and sprinting after the Lich King. Jaina wasted no time in blinking; pursuing him as well.

The champions heard her lasting words before the great door shut behind her. "You won't deny me this, Arthas.. I must know.. I must find out!"

The doors closed.

* * *

_AN: Just to clarify, I wont be covering the Falric/Marwyn fight, because, well lets face it. It'd probably take a couple wipes ;)_

_No, it'll be focused on Jaina, Sylvanas, and Arthas' interaction next chapter._


	12. Advancing in a different direction END

When the frigid doors slammed shut behind her, the only driving force that the young mage rode upon was her Hope. The searing light of endless possibility was the only thing that kept her from freezing up from the intense cold of the chambers, and the pulling dread at her soul. Her unnatural blue eyes fluttered; gaze throwing around the room that she, Sylvanas, and the Lich King now occupy.

In some strange sense of surreality, it could have been the start of a bad joke she hears quite often from the local fishermen back at Theramore. She could faintly hear them now; '_A Mage, a Ranger and the Lich King walk into a bar..' _Really, there was no amount of absurdity in which their jovial jests dwindled down to, but now was not the time of thinking obscure things. It only served to keep her mind occupied to what could very much be her imminent death. If there was any shred of Arthas even left in the dark armour, then she was in no real danger.

It brought no comfort, however. Her shoulders sagged; drawing her cloak over her and obscuring most of her arms, staff held almost limply as she surveyed the chamber. Her hood was drawn up; locks of blonde hair spilling out messily. This room had such a horrible feel of familiarity. Then, in almost a sudden instant, it became clear. A soft gasp escaped her lips, as she finally fixated her gaze upon the imposing figure of the Lich King, Frostmourne's point nearly touching the ground as it's runes were ablaze.

Behind him stood a throne – the shredded silken drapes – black marble scratched floors, no lights, definitely no light. A shadow, disgusted, twisted mockery of the imperial chamber of Lordaeron, the original private chamber being The Last True King's throne room. Arthas must of created it. The so called dwindling presence. It was almost a perfect replica, if not built in such a way it besmirched the original.

To say that the air was tense, was an understatement, but it was swiftly cut when Sylvanas wasted no time in drawing a black arrow and raising her bow; pulling back the string and aiming straight at the Lich King. He responded it turn, raising his cursed blade and expelling whatever stored up dark energy the blazing sigils indicated; grasping the Dark Ranger in some sort of binding, uncomfortably tugging and yearning for her end. The elf forsaken tried to struggle, spluttering out horrible words that Jaina tried not to listen to.

And then, The Lich King started to approach the mage.

At first, she didn't react, staring in awestruck. Always so slow moving, she noted. It was only when he lifted his sword to slash at her did her innate, instinctive spell casting kick into self defence. She threw the cloak off her arms, raising her staff as an armour of fortified ice came to her rescue. It formed in front of her like a thick block, taking the brunt of his swing whilst staggering the mage heavily back. She repeated the action several times against several of his simple swings, each one wearing on her stamina and endurance.

Her thoughts, scrabbled, disorganized and dazed, ventured back to her younger years, when choices were not so tough, and the hardest peril she had to face was trying to keep a strong focus on her studies, a day when she and Arthas had a very rare moment of peace and serenity to themselves and only themselves. They always used to mock fight amongst the summer grass, and the young prince would make deliberate and slow strikes, easy for her to keep up.

He let her win most of the 'fights', too, with them ending up spiralling down the hill, and her landing snugly on top of him, pinning him down and proclaiming: _"I have beat you once more, Prince of Lordaeron!"_finished with an affectionate peck on the nose.

There was no sun-kissed grass here, no loving company. Jaina doubted that this was a battle that she would be 'let won'. It shook her, but she was determined to go down fighting, if needs be.

A particularly overpowering arc devastated the ice shield she had conjured to hold him, and he took a sure step forward; towering over her. She inclined her head upwards; finding soft glowing eyes and wisps of silvery hair in that inky blackness of the helmet. Being so close; so, so close, she could even make out the frozen stubble on his once clean cut chin. Her breath hitched in her throat, and she tried to step back, and found that she couldn't move.

Either it was her own foolishness that rooted her; or a similar piercing grip on Sylvanas, Jaina didn't know. What she did, was that her once lover had attacked her, with the very intent to kill. Only now, when she knew he finally gazed at her fully – not just, sparring glances or cold acknowledgements, but a mute gaze; did he falter. Desperate hope bloomed in her; and she offered a weak, pitiful smile.

"Arthas.. It's me. Jaina." she whispered, but she knew he heard her. "Arthas.. I know you're in there.. Y-You have to fight this.."

There was a pause; and his hand, one that did not hold Frostmourne, rose. She tensed up; a spell on the tip of her tongue, but it was not necessary, it seemed. His gauntleted hand, massive compared to the size of her daintly little one, pushed back her hood, and stroked down her hair; fingers filtering the golden, smooth, silky locks. Jaina shuddered, and a sigh escaped her, and she looked up at him hopefully, her smile growing cautiously.

His hand move back; cupping her cheek briefly, and brushing the back of his knuckles against her skin – it was deadly cold, yes, but he was gentle, the kind of gentleness that Arthas displayed to her. It was as if she was a porcelain doll to him, and he didn't want to shatter her.

"Jaina." he rumbled; his voice thick and, so unrecognisable with it's rich husk and maturity. The mage's mind was still occupied with the past, and she felt tears she so desperately tried to force away spring into the corner of her eyes.

"A-Arthas.." she replied meekly, shaking her head almost in disbelief as it appeared her hope came through. She felt a longing yearn churn in the pit of her stomach, and she knew she still loved the young prince, even after what had happened.

Sylvanas watched the display, curious, but sickened. She struggle against her bonds, but now that the blade was not actively holding her, it became easier and easier, and she felt it loosen. She wanted to use this moment to her advantage, but found that it was a second too late.

As his hand reached her neck, he suddenly gripped a hold of it tightly, thumb squeezing down on her windpipes and lifting her up. Jaina choked, her feet dangling just inches above the ground as all hope was slaughtered, her heart not feeling much better. His crushing hold tightened and tightened, and she was sure he was about to snap her neck in half. She knew Arthas – he would of wanted a clean, swift death.

But, she found regretfully, that this was Arthas no longer. Only the Lich King remains.

And he would make it as painful as possible.

She kicked out futilely, her own hands flying and gripping onto his to try to pry his fingers off, but to no avail. A chuckle escaped from the King, amused by her feeble attempts as he was content to watch the life slowly drain from her; her usual bright, uncanny and strange blue eyes, dimming. He seemed more pleased with this than he had the special display of affection earlier. Was there really a part of Arthas still there? Had Uther been right? Was the Lich King simply playing on her emotions for his own amusement?

She now thought the latter as black splotches appeared in her blurring vision. No. This wasn't supposed to happen. No.. No! Not here. Not now. She could already hear the clattering boots against metal – Jacob! Mokra! They were coming through. Her allies – and not a moment too late. Hope of a new kind blossomed for her, and it gave her the adrenaline she needed.

"Nn-n-n.." she tried to speak, but was stopped when he pushed all too roughly once more against her neck. Her hands gripped his gauntlet; his arm, nails splitting against the metal of his armour as she held on for dear life; knuckles turning white. The blue of her eyes suddenly flared up; brighter than the soft glow of Arthas' own or the orange lowlight of Sylvanas. Determination streaked through her and she found, it even made the Lich King stall for a split second.

That was all she needed.

With all her pent up magic, her frustration, her heartbroken state, her sorrow, grief, guilt, straying thoughts, nostalgia, old hope, all amalgamated into a single, powerful entrapment spell. The brightness reached an ultimatum before blinding the room for just a moment – and then, the Lich King was completely trapped in ice; save for the hand that held her throat. His grip slacked enough for her to pry his fingers off from around her neck.

Jaina greedily gulped for air, falling to the floor at the exhaustion of such a spell. With the Lich King bound, all ensnarement on Sylvanas dropped completely, and she grabbed the mage's upper harm and hauled her to the feet; not without a sneer gracing her lips, and a look that seemed to make her skin crawl.

But no words were exchanged between the two when the Champions of the Crusade burst through the door, right off it's icy hinges. With a single sparing glance; they were taken aback by the sight of the Lich King bound, or so they thought. The first crack appeared, audible, and demanded silence over them. By the time a sister crack split from the first like a branch, everything roared into life.

"He is too powerful, we must leave this place at once! My magic will hold him in place for only a short time! Come quickly, heroes!" Jaina rallied, slamming the end of the staff into the ground and blinking forward towards the hidden passageway she remembered – Trust Arthas to still keep it in, and indeed, he had.

Not that it would matter, she mused, giving a dreadful glance over to the block that contained The Lich King, more cracks appearing before finally, the entirety of it shattered, freeing him. A laugh escaped him once more – truly amused at her attempts to try and stop him. She forced herself to face in front of her, as a large wall of ice blocked their only escape.

"Cover us while we take down this wall!" Sylvanas yelled, aiming her bow up and shooting magical arrows that pierced the black ice; hitting key points, like weakest links in a chainmail. The mage beside her too, assisted with breaking the spell chains and weakening the barrier, one spell at a time. Jacob and Mokra stood protectively infront of them, shield and sword raised respectively.

A haze of mist gathered around Arthas as he took long strides; but the gripping ice slowed him down. Jaina knew what it was. It was a remorseless winter. No escape. No hope.

The first barrier split, and broke, and they were sprinting down the narrow passageway.

With a careless wave of his hands, ghouls rose themselves from the ground, just as another ice barrier blocked their tactical retreat. As one gurgled and tried to leap onto Jaina, Jacob intercepted, smashing the ghoul with his shield with so much force that his head, not properly attached from reanimation, flew off. He shattered the ribs of another ghoul with his mace; just as Mokra cut another in half.

"Death's cold embrace awaits.."

The wall was taken down, and they ambled on their way. They barely made enough distance between themselves and the remorseless winter before another blockade brought them to a halt. Jaina grit her teeth – he was toying with them! He could very easily cease this foolery. But no. He was savouring their fear, dread, and anticipation.

More raging ghouls came flying towards them, shot down by the hunters. However, this time; a lumbering abomination was summoned, dragging it's many carcasses and bloodied hook; putrid guts spilling out and leaving a trail of acidic intestines. It gave a mangled cry, blindly slicing with it's cleaver and trying to hack anything that got in it's way.

"That, is disgusting." remarked the gnomish arcane mage, as he and Eressea battered the tattered abomination with a hail of fire and missiles. The Blood Elf wrinkled her nose at the smell; withholding the urge to gag and puke. With a quick spell, she kept her nausea at bay.

When their attacks were proving nothing more than to agitate it, both he and Eressea had to once more use their chemistry to their advantage. The flamestrike-arcane blast combo proved effective, yet now they had the stench of rotten, toxic flesh permeating the air.

The second barrier was destroyed, they continued.

"Another dead end.."

More ghouls. Another Abomination, and now, with an additional vargul Witch Doctor. Already, Lana and the Deathstalker was on the case, in stealth, avoiding the leaping, feral ghouls and manoeuvring around the vomiting abomination, they each got their dagger to the ready, and pounced the moment the witch doctor attempted to cast. In a cheap shot, Lana managed to stun him, while Visceri pulled out a barbed, silver wire.

Tightly wrapping the garrotte around his throat, the force and pressure the forsaken rogue applied caused blood to spray; even embedding the weapon into the throat, and silencing him long enough for the dwarf to finish the kill. They each acknowledged the others skill with a nod, and with a blink, they were vanished once more.

The two mages once more took out the abomination, while the hunters were on ghoul-management. Jacob and Mokra were the last resort, should their defence get breached and any stray scourge attempted to attack either Sylvanas or Jaina.

They continued – they could see the light, the very end of the passageway..!

"It's.. it's another dead end." she echoed the Lich King's words. "We.. We have no choice but to fight. Steel yourselves, champions."

Even as she and the Dark Lady hung to the back of the area, even with strategic planning of placement, and even they were fuelled by their last hope of fighting and winning, they knew it would be for naught anyway. What Uther had said. He must be defeated at the Frozen Throne. Not here. It was impossible. They would only be delaying the inevitable.

But that was exactly what they were going to do, even if the Lich King began to laugh maniacally and raised Frostmourne, pointing the blade straight at Jacob and Mokra, the two on the very front of the defence, ready to defend. The remorseless winter howled all around them, harsh snow even beginning to fall, as Arthas yelled the last words.

"Nowhere to run.. You're all MINE now!"

Or so he thought.

It was a miracle, like a steel angel sweeping down to save them. The noise was utterly deafening over the shrieks of the wind, but the churning of metal and propellers topped it. Both T_he Skybreaker_ and _Ogrim's Hammer_ came to their rescue, both captains screaming their orders at the top of their lungs. The guns of both ships opened fire, battering the tunnel and causing a substantial part of it to collapse straight down ontop of the Lich King, ending the winter abruptly as all snow ceased.

As the two ships were, rightfully massive,_ Ogrim's Hammer_ hovered up and dropped ropes and ladders for the Horde champions to climb, whereas _The Skybreaker_ lowered a ramp leading to the deck.

"Get on board, NOW! This whole mountain side can collapse at any moment!" the sky-reaver yelled, and the heroes indeed quickly began to ascend the ropes and ladders. Sylvanas lingered for a moment, grasping Jaina's upper arm and staring at her.

Jaina gazed back, and she noted a slight twitch of the once ranger's lips.

"You are a very curious woman, Lady Proudmoore." she finally said, letting go. "But I hope you have learned something today."

Gravely, the younger nodded. "I should of listened to Uther. I-I'm sorr-"

"Save it."

Sylvanas turned, walking up to the ladder and climbing up, only going part way as deckhands leaned over, grasped her hands and pulled her onboard. Retracting the ropes, the airship began to leave. Jaina too, ran up the ramp, allowing crew members to remove it and the _Skybreaker _to take off.

She faced the heroes, and bowed her head apologetically. Jacob took it upon himself to speak.

"Lady Proudmoore – please. What must be done?" he settled on, not wanting to really get into any emotional speech. If there was one thing the human was a bumble at, it was sappy speeches of apology.

To this, she replied simply. "I will go to King Varian and the Highlord to deliver the news, of what Uther told me. For now, I suppose you return to where you are stationed at."

They nodded, and allowed Jaina a moment to herself, to reflect on what happened. She turned out towards the vast wasteland of ice, death and snow, and heaved a great sigh. The moments of what just happened were so vivid in her mind, swimming endlessly and ceasing to let her have a second of peace. She chewed her lip, closing her eyes and gingerly touching her bruised throat. Arthas was no longer. She still loved him. He must be killed at the Frozen Throne. There must ALWAYS be a Lich King.

She entwined her fingers together, resting them on the railing and opening her uncanny blue eyes, staring vacantly.

Jaina idly thought that maybe she should of taken up Aegwynn's offer to stay at Theramore. Thinking of home, while made her a little sick, of missing the port town, she suddenly grimaced. The paperwork was going to be heaps, upon heaps. She'd have to resume batting off airheaded nobles with nothing on their mind except their own ego.

Maybe she could stay in Northrend for a moment longer, at least to aide the Highlord, and the Crusade, against the attack on Icecrown Citadel. Even with the groundbreaking knowledge she now possesses, it was still somewhat personal to her.

Arthas wasn't completely gone. He was still a presence. Although it couldn't be tapped or drawn out at all, it was still something.

She knew she couldn't convert the Lich King based on her old love, or any other silly girlish things. But she wanted to see the end of this, once and for all, so that both she and Arthas may receive closure.

With a nod, she approached the Captain of the airship. "I'm going to need flight to wherever Highlord Tirion Fordring is currently staying at. I have news I must bring him immediately."

The captain saluted. "Right away, Lady Proudmoore. We'll have a 'copter pepped and ready for you. Please, stand by."

_The assault on the Citadel will begin shortly, Arthas. _She thought to herself. _Five champions of the Alliance.. Five champions of the Horde.. working together.. Divided, you could stop us. But can you when we are unified?_

_You're about to find out._

* * *

_An: Aaaaand that marks the end of The Trial, Begins! I didn't intend this to go on as long as it did, but wow. _

_Thanks for ally our reviews, favourites and follows. It means a lot! I didn't even expect I'd get a single one. But it's nice to know people have actually read it, even if they might not like it or are too shy to give a critique or even a repsonse._

_There's still a few errors littered about in this story which I need to go back and change, but I'm lazy. Nyrhgrghrg. I hope you enjoyed this!_

_Next thing to look out for: Klaxxi madness and a little appreciation to those paragons. AUTHOR AWAY_


End file.
